Sober
by Caleigho Meer
Summary: One night, one drink, one moment, one mistake.
1. Chapter 1

_______________________________________________________________________________________

The drive home was supposed to be peaceful, and uneventful. Yami was weary from the day's toil, looking forward to the quiet solace of the game shop, and maybe a quick chat with Yugi before he finally could seek the long-for refuge of a good night's music was pleasant, the night air cool, but not unpleasantly cold, and he felt safe in the womb-  
like atmosphere of the radio and the darkness. The song from the radio was soothing, the traffic light, and Yami was pleased to see that he was making good time. His peace was shattered by the bright flare of headlights swerving over the highway and into Yami's lane so blindingly quick. Yami's heart quelled in his chest, his whole body tremoring in the shock and the disbelief.  
There was maybe a foot of distance between their bumpers, and even less time to react. Yami instinctively jerked the wheel to the left, towards the embankment. Yami's car shuddered as it nudged the other car's bumper and then continued its unrelenting crunch of metal rippled through his very bones like an earthquake.

The split second instinct had been made with the intent of salvaging Yami's car and life, not to send both barrelling skyward then tumbling off the highway.  
Yam did not even have time to cry out, as his thoughts suddenly narrowed and then severed into fragmented images. Even as the car started its cartwheel off the highway, even as the sky reversed position with the earth from the shattering windshield, even as Yami felt the car soar into the air, he denied its happening because it was too impossible to be believed. He only had time to snatch a breath before it was over.  
The impact of the crash was horrific, a catastrophic tidal wave of breaking metal,  
the windshield shattering, and earth and sky rolling into a dark blur as the car catapulted itself from the highway and dove into a rollover off the embankment.  
He felt the sickening lurch as the tires left the pavement, the terrifying sensation of being flung ito the air, and then being flung downward. The car landed upside down, the roof of the car crumbling under its own weight, pinning him.

Pain, blinding pain coiled over his legs, laced up his hip, as something inside his left leg calf bent and snap of his limb sounded like gunfire. He was hanging upside down,  
suspended by the seatbelt as his groping hands scraped against the windows, and only felt the indifferent dirt. He was frantic, he was sobbing, and clawing, his bloody hands digging uselessly at the seatbelt to free himself from the prison of broken metal. He heard the wailing of sirens,  
the blurred smear of blue lights as the EMTs scrambled down the hillside, standing aghast at the sight of the car upside down. A kind hand made its way through the gaping hole that remained of the windshield, coiled his trembling fingers in his own. "Don't worry, son.  
We'll be getting you out shortly."

He had dissolved into sobbing hysterics when that kindly hand gave him another reassuring squeeze, and withdrew.

He heard the snatches of voices, the eerie calm that had settled over the carnage. He saw a a man's head with a helmet peer down at him through the sliver of winshield, and tell him that they were going to have to cut the car open to set him free from it. He was told that he would probably feel a rocking sensation, and hear a lot of noise, but not to worry, he would be free very soon. The quivering from the shock and the pain had increased to a bone-deep tremor that he couldn't stop. The agony had somehow slid from outright pain to numb throbbing as he felt his awareness trickling away like water. He heard somebody bellow that he was going into shock, as another hand gripped his cold one, imploring him to hold on.

The car lurched above his trapped legs, and he heard the sheering as they applied the plier-  
like jaws of life to the car door, and peeled off the car's exterior. When it was established that the car's twisted frame would not collapse inward and crush him, they set about extracting his battered body. Yami flinched as they continued cutting away the pieces of the door, slowly,carefully extracting his battered body from the wreck. Yami whimpered as they finally freed his injured leg, and he stared numbly at the crooked angle of his gradually lowered him onto the backboard, carefully strapping him down to prevent any further wounding. He heard their voices, somebody gently stroking his bloodied hair in reassurance as he fought the encroaching darkness that finally swallowed him whole and engulfed all awareness in one abysmal silence. Yami's breath hitched in his heaving lungs before he fainted.

___________________________________________________________

It was never supposed to be like this. Seto's head throbbed with the last remnants of his hangover, and the clang of the bars behind him made his head ache even more. They left him in this cold, concrete hole, reeking with the stench of vomit,piss and the aftermath of being drunk. Seto felt unclean, violated, and nearly sick with guilt and horror.  
Awareness was warring with his shot to hell nerves, and the handcuffs latched over his wrists were further proof that something had went horribly wrong. Seto remembered very little of the night until this point. A few drinks, a cocky reassurance of his own self-control,  
the false sense of coordination as he decided to drive himself home. It was in the early hours of the morning, it was a short distance, and he wasn't drunk, hell, no.  
He had only had a few and he was quite in control of himself, thank you.  
That was the last thing he remembered with any clarity. There was snatches of moments, the sudden swerve of his hands, his growing irritation of the idiot who was going so slow on the lane, his growing impatience with wanting to get home and sleep before he had to attend to his usual duties of KaibaCorps.

He remembered the world lurching, the car in front of him halting, his own automobile colliding with the other car,his body feeling the reverberation to his core. His car spun around from the force of the collision, and came to rest after completely spinning around into a gordian hood was crumbled as a piece of paper caught in a fist, and smoking. His cell phone felt so unfamiliar in his pocket. He was shivering and scared and looking back to see the car he had just hit tumbling off the highway and crumbling into the ditch. His heart lurched like it was the wrecked car as he hastily dialed the emergency number. He was shaken, still panicking, still too intoxicated to function well, but enough... In trembling words, he poured out the whole awful event, as he scrambled to the hillside, watching as the car continued its tumble, and came to rest upside down in the ditch

There was only silence as Seto clapped a hand over his mouth, but could not hold back the vomit, or the tears. He was only halted in his scrambling down the hillside by the swarm of EMTs and police. The arresting officers were coldly professional as they tersely questioned him briefly, the stench of fine scotch still on his breath, answering any questions of guilt they may have had. He was unresisting when they read him his rights, docile as they wrapped his arms to the small of his back and then handcuffed him.  
His eyes were searing as they continued to drink in the sickening aftermath of one stupid mistake.  
He cowered on that cold sliver of the metal bed frame, his face buried in his hands. The tortured questions kept clawing at him like a flock of demonic birds, made him weep when the shock wore off and the realization of what he had done set in with all its vicious clarity.

The longest hours of Seto's life were spent pondering if he had killed somebody. 


	2. Bruised

The phone call sounded like a shot gun blast in the torpor of the early morning. Solomon Moto rolled over,with a groan, and fumbled to pick it up. He blearily mumbled a greeting into the phone, but was instantly awoke when the polite but apologetic officer gently explained that Yami Moto had been in a severe car accident, and they needed to come to the hospital immediately.

Solomon bellowed in grief rousing Yugi, who came running to his grandfather's bedroom, wide-eyed and alarmed. Solomon wasted little time in tact, or delay as he hastily dressed and told Yugi that Yami was in the hospital

Yugi managed to control his shock and tears enough to avoid a breakdown as they drove the longest miles of his life, as they walked through the bleak waiting room, with its shining black and white, tiles. There were other people, huddled together and cowed down, awaiting news of their own. Solomon left Yugi to perch in the uncomfortable plastic chair to badger the harassed admission secretary yet again for information about Yami. So far, the only thing that she could pass on to him was that Yami had been transported to the hospital, and that he was now undergoing emergency surgery.

It was only a few hours, but each one seemed to be an eternity as Solomon only fought back tears, gripped Yugi against his side, a tether of uncertain familiarity in all of this turmoil. Yugi said nothing at all, but just quietly wiped away tears and tried to offer a brave smile, and hollow reassurances that Yami was going to be alright, he knew it. At long, long last, the Motos were called to the front, where a weary surgeon emerged fromthose swinging metal doors, wiping the sweat from his brow with a forced smile meant to convey confidence.

Solomon could not stop the tears or the prayers when he got the blessed, blessed news that Yami would live. Yugi slumped at his side, exhaling the held back anguish as the surgeon gave a bland, sickening recitation of Yami's condition, and his injuries. Yami had undergone surgery to repair his shattered leg. He had a fractured calf, dislocated shoulder, and several broken ribs on his right side. He had suffered massive contusions on his right side, and he had a broken nose. Yami had been wheeled to the recovery room, and they would soon be able to see him, but with the understanding that they couldn't be there for long, and that he would be heavily sedated.

They were herded down several long hallways, past the general admission beds, past the nursery, and off to the ICU wing. Here, the nurse's station was filled with the quiet shuffle of paperwork and nurses going in and out of the glass doors leading off into the patient's rooms. The nurse assigned to Yami was perched on a mobile work station. She gave them a kind smile, and gently told them that Yami had been through a substantial trauma, that the facial swelling would go down, that it might be a bit distressing to see him with all the machinery hooked up.

Solomom opened his mouth to reply, Yugi plunged past her into the room.

All those gentle reassurances, those hours in the waiting room of mentally shoring up his defenses to face this moment fell down and shattered at his feet when he saw Yami. Yugi heard his grandfather's gasp from behind him, as Yugi hesitantly crept to the bedrail.

It was clear that Yami's right side had borne the brunt of the carnage.

The right side of Yami's face was a sickening rainbow of mottled blue, darkening to nearly purple around his distorted, wilted eye socket. The eye had swollen shut, and the bruise went from his temple to his jaw line, splintered over his bent nose. The fingers on his right hand had swollen up, bloated from the fluid and damage, winking out of the splint and the cast, and propped up by a pillow. He wore a pale, patterned hospital gown, and Yugi winced to see that his entire torso was covered with bruising from shoulder to right leg was encased in plaster, and propped up on several pillows.

There was no sound but Yami's ragged, deep breathing, the invasive beep of the heart monitor and Yugi's quiet sobs. He heard the scrape of something across the floor, and saw the nurse pushing in two chairs to rest beside the bed with a kind smile.

"Why don't you take a seat and talk to Yami? He may not be able to respond, but it might do him good to know that you are here."

Yugi politely thanked her, flicked an uncertain glance at his grandfather, and then carefully gathered up Yami's uninjured left hand in between his shaking 's hand felt cold, and damp, unnaturally limp and strange as Yugi sat back, floundering for words, and finding nothing to say at all.

"Yami? Can you hear me? Please, hang on...."

Yugi felt Yami's fingers tighten against his own, the groan and the flicker of a grimace twist the good side of Yami's face. Yami's left eye shot open, huge with tears and terror as his eye darted around the strange surroundings, and coming to rest at Yugi's familiar face. His breath quickened in panic, and choked off abruptly by the blinding pain of broken ribs exhaling those frantic breaths. They heard his animalisticgroan, the shudder of agony and realization as Yami trembled, and the tears mutely trickled down the bruised cheek.


	3. Awake

The holding cell Seto found himself in reeked of vomit, urine, and other bodily fluids that Seto did not want to think about. He eyed his two cell-mates with a mixture of fear and distain. One was a sullen woman who sat hunched and glowering at the wall on the small bench, and the other was a seasoned old drunk who was indifferently slumbering away on the floor. Seto stood with his back propped against the cleanest wall he could find, his arms crossed over his chest, burying his shaking hands into the deep folds of his trench coat. He had already been subjected to the humilation of being arrested. The officers had hauled him away from the wreckage after one of the EMTs gave him a quick examination to make sure he was uninjured. She only gave him a scornful dismissal, as she waved back to the car that Seto had hit. She bitterly spat that they were still trying to cut the other driver out of the car. Seto felt those words like a blow.

The drive to the police station was the longest ride Seto had ever experienced. He was photographed, finger-  
printed, and told that he was charged with driving under the influence. Seto meekly gave them his name, and contact information, before they dumped him in the cell, and left him alone to his self-loathing. Time slowed,  
stopped, and left him forgotten. Seto unwittingly nodded off for a few moments, head lulling.

He was interrupted by the bored barking of his name, as the bohemoth of a police womam lurched and snarled at the cell door. Seto could make his phone call to make bail. She commanded himto step back, as she unlocked the door, and allowed him through. He meekly waited, and followed her down that long, long hallway. He passed the the caged, glowering collection of humanity in the cells without a backwards glance.  
She escorted him back to the booking room, and boredly waited while he stared at the phone, torn between calling Roland to arrange his bail, or slinking back into the cell to avoid facing Mokuba. His hands coiled over the reciever,  
as he finally swallowed, dialed his private security and waited for Rolland to answer.

It was strange how heavy the phone felt, how the words were lodged into his throat, and he had no adequate way of absolving himself from any of this. Rolland answered tersely, but then with worry as he heard Seto's weary voice.

"Rolland, this is Seto. I am currently being held at the Domino Police Station, and I need you to come with the sum of money to post my bail, and arrange for my release."

"Mr. Kaiba?! What happened?! Are you alright?"

There was a long, heavy silence as Seto sighed tiredly, and answered, "No, Rolland, I'm not alright, but I would be better if you would quit this interrogation and arrange a ride for me, please."

Rolland paused, clearly fearful, and then hesitantly answered, "Of course, sir. Right away."

Seto sighed again, and only whispered, "Thank you. And please,don't mention this to Mokuba."

Rolland seemed strangely subdued. "Of course not, Mr. Kaiba. I will be there immediately."

Rolland arrived mercifully fast, posted bail, took care of whatever was needed to secure Seto's freedom. Seto barely listened when the officer explained that he was now charged with driving under the influence, and would have to face a trial or plead guilty. Seto put his head in his hands, shaking at the news. Rolland barked out that he had already been notified of the procedures, and Mr. Kaiba would attend to them promptly. Rolland gripped Seto's limp arm, gently steered him into the waiting car and gave the driver directions to go back to the Kaiba mansion.

Rolland eyed Seto with concern when Seto wilted into the seat, all traces of his usual arrogance crushed and broken.  
Seto stared bleerily out the window, and only turned away in anguished tears when they passed the curve that he had wrecked on. Rolland saw his flinch.

"Mr. Kaiba, sir? Are you alright?"

Seto only shook his head. "No, Rolland, I am not alright. Please accept my gratitude for your help tonight, and my apologies for not wanting to talk about it."

Rolland nodded and was silent as they approached the driveway.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Yami felt Yugi's hand in his own, and he gripped it weakly like a drowning man finally finding a rope. He felt the chill of a tear leaking its wet trail down his purple cheek. He heard Yugi's groping whimper of his name, he saw those bright lights, burning down. He felt the dull ache of pain drugged to an uncomfortable throb. He felt the woozy, panicking confusion of being through the wreck, and waking to find himself so literally torn up.

Yugi was making a faulty, but compassionate attempt to give bright reassurance that Yami was going to be just fine.  
Yami's good eye bulged when it fell on the IV pole, the disfigured limb, the mottled, broken fingers curled against the brace.

"Y...Yugi?" It was a choked lurch of his name, groaned out with an effort as Yami shut his eyes, and shuddered.

"Yami..don't....don't try to talk now,alright? Just rest and get better." Yugi gently shushed him as he sent a panicked glance to the door.

Yami's breath quickened, and his mouth twisted in the effort to continue. "Yugi....the wreck! Did....did I hurt anybody?  
There was..another car.....it hit me...." Yami looked at him in terror at the thought that he could have put somebody else in the hospital.

Yugi felt the tears rising again, in disbelief that Yami could be concerned about the driver who had done this to him.  
Yugi bit back the retort when he saw Yami's eyes filling again, and that tense look of expectant pain. Sighing, clutching Yami's good hand as a tether, Yugi halted for a moment, and then forced himself to answer.

"Yami, the wreck....it wasn't your fault. You were the only one injured."

Yami's hand shuddered in his, shut his eyes, and trembled. Yugi waited uneasily, as Yami sighed. "Thank God. I don't know that I could live with myself if I was responsible for another person being injured."

Yugi jerked sharply, and was about to spew the whole story in all its venom, until he saw Yami's pent up breath deflate, releasing the anguish for a moment. Yami yawned, and gave Yugi an apologetic look, as he murmured,  
"I'm sorry, Yugi, but I'm very tired....."

Yugi gave him a compassionate smile and gently lay Yami's hand down, rising to tuck the blankets around Yami.  
Yami's eyes lingered on his, and then slowly slid shut as Yugi listened for his breathing to deepen, and that look of pinched pain to relax. Satisfied that Yami was truly asleep, he pulled the quilt over Yami's body, lingered for a moment,  
in silent gratitude, and flicked off the lights to let Yami sleep in peace. 


	4. Guilt

The pain from the hangover was certainly easier to grapple with than the aftermath of the stupidest thing Seto had ever done in his life. He felt the two factions lining up-  
self-loathing for his mistake, and the strange, agonized sense of guilt that had grown teeth and gnawed at his every thought like a rat. Seto had wondered if the whole thing had been some twisted dream he had conjured in his drunken cloying stench of vomit and from his night in prison soon proved otherwise. If that wasn't enough, the wary, barely concealed disapproval radiating from Rolland was enough to confirm it.  
Rolland was curt, but polite to Seto's captures, quietly posting bail with the substantial sum, and signed whatever paperwork was needed to set Seto free.

Rolland had strolled like a soldier past the cages of humanity, looking neither left or right, flanking the glowering policeman. He was aghast at the idea of Seto being in jail,  
and outraged that Seto had been subjected to such treatment. He walked down the long, alien concrete hallway, wrinkling his nose at the sights and the catcalls of various propositions.  
The policeman bellowed for silence and was largely ignored, as they continued to the holding cell at the end. Here, the walls were moss green, and the walls and floor covered with cheap plastic siding. The officer, seeing Rolland's curiosity, boredly stated that this particular corner of hell was the 'drunk tank' and it was that way because it was easier to hose down the drunks who pissed or vomited.

Rolland inwardly cringed at the thought of Seto being held in this horrible place, and his jaw dropped when the police officer finally pulled out a key from the loop at his belt.  
Seto was wilting on the narrow bench that was bolted to the 's head was bowed,  
shoulders slumped, his hands clenching the folds of his trenchcoat as if to shield himself from the horror around him. Rolland watched as Seto startled like a scared deer at the loud grinding of the door swinging open. His tear-washed, glassy eyes met Rolland's in disbelief as Rolland could only gawk in shock.

"Mr. Kaiba? Are you alright?"

Seto's face crumpled into miserable negation before he forced himself upright, his lips faltering in the attempt to regain the usual distainful sneer. It was a miserablef failure.  
Sighing deeply, Seto only looked up at Rolland, and softly answered.

"No, Rolland...I'm not."

The guard growled out, "You're a hell of a lot better off than the driver you hit, you rich bastard."

Seto flinched as if he had been stabbed, shoved the palm to his mouth, and ground out the choked back whimper as Rolland gaped from him to the guard.

"What is this about, sir? Why is Seto being held?"

The officer glowered at Seto, thick fingers ghosting over the baton at his belt as if he wished he could smash Seto's skull in from the rancor. Shaking his head in disgust, he turned to Rolland.

"This fine, and upstanding citizen took it upon himself to drink himself stupid and drive.  
I hope that last drink was worth putting the other guy in the hospital."

Seto shuddered in anguish, raking his splayed fingers over his twisted face, burst out,"I didn't mean for this to happen!! It was an accident, a mistake! Can you not see that?"

The guard sneered,"It happened just makes me sick that you're walking free and the guy you hit is in the hospital, maybe dying. I bet that last sip ain't so valuable now,  
is it?"

Seto only put his face in his hands, scrubbed the tears away in agony. Rolland curled a lip at the guard, and met him with his own scowl.

"Regardless of the circumstances that landed Mr. Kaiba here, until he is tried, convicted, and sentenced, you have no right to keep him here after the bail has been paid."

The guard nodded curtly, as he suddenly gripped Seto's shaking arm in one fist, and hauled him to his feet. He did not loosen the grip on his arm until he had marched Seto out of the prison and back to the dinghy waiting room.

Gently, Rolland sheparded Seto to the waiting car, after pausing at the desk to collect his belongings. Seto slid into the seat, head bowed, as if surrendering to the executioner's ax.  
Rolland wordlessly set Seto's things in the floor, and commanded the driver to take them home.

Seto was pale and shaking in the seat, his fingers splayed and digging into the velour as if he were a rabbit ready to bolt. Rolland studied him for a moment, and attempted to soothe the situation with paternal gentleness.

"I am sure it's all a misunderstanding, sir. There's no way that you would do something like-"

Seto halted the speech with a sharp jerk of his head. Each one had felt like a stab wound.

"Rolland, I didn't do something like that. I did exactly what the officer said. I got drunk, and hit somebody with my car. I was arrested and charged with reckless endangerment,  
and I can be potentially locked away for a substantial time. I don't even know if the driver I hit survived the wreck. So, now, I'm not only a drunk and a bastard, I am a potential killer."

Seto was eerily calm as he peered out at the drab morning. Rolland was heaving now, shock and anguish roiling in his gut as he shook his head in denial.

"Sir,surely you're lying, or there's been a misunderstanding. It....you..."

Seto's eyes hardened over the self-hatred, as he forced away the anguished thoughts into a tangible bit of action. Stiffening, he donned his old distancing arrogance.

"When we get back to the mansion, Rolland, I need you to do something for me. I need you to find out who I hit, what extent the damages were, and how to get whatever cost accrued billed to me."


	5. Unmaskedwd

Yami awoke to the rattle of the meal cart entering his room. A harassed cna had locked his side table over the bed, and was already arranging his breakfast tray. She showered the gooey eggs with salt and pepper, shoved a straw into his milk carton, and left the plastic spork beside his tray. She breezed out of the room before Yami even had time to thank her.

Breakfast proved to be an good left hand was now encased in the cast, and his fingers were too numb and swollen to grasp a fork. Awkwardly, he bent the spork in his right hand,and shoveled some of the oatmeal into his mouth. It was bland, but edible. The buttered toast and orange juice were better, and the eggs, he avoided completely. He had just sipped the last of his orange juice when there was a crisp knock on the door.

Yugi slid his head in, with a faltering, apologetic smile, as the grim looking police woman strode in after him.

She gave Yugi a curt nod, as he pulled up a chair by Yami's bed, as Yami warily eyed the police woman, clearly flummoxed about her presence. Yugi gently pat Yami's shoulder, giving him a weak smile.

Yami sighed, glancing at Yugi for direction. Seeing none, he gingerly raised himself upright until he was sitting. He watched the police woman's eyes narrow and fix on his busted wrist and leg like a target. She sighed, and shook her head as she brought forth a pad and pen.

"May I ask what this is about?" Yami's tone was polite but clearly wary as the woman lowered her considerable bulk into the other chair beside Yugi.

"Mr. Moto, I am here to take a statement as to what happened to cause the wreck that you were involved in last night. It appears that the other driver involved was intoxicated at the time,  
which is a felony. After reviewing the case, the district attorney has filed charges."

Yugi saw Yami's eyes narrow and flicker with some unreadable emotion as he gently lay his good hand over Yugi's in reassurance that he was alright, that he could do this. Yugi met his eyes, and nodded minutely, as he carefully swung the side table out of Yami's way.

Yami's voice was chilled as he raised an eyebrow. "Miss, do you mean that the reason that I was so badly injured was because I was hit by a drunk driver?"

The officer tilted her head down at Yami, her mouth twisting in sympathy. "Unforunately,Mr.  
Moto, that is exactly what it means."

Yami glared down at his battered body, the broken bones, his good eye narrowing as the black one twitched at the realization. Rage, like ice, like molten lava, seared through his veins as his fingers gripped the fringe of his blanket in aggitation. Raising those burning eyes to meet Yugi's, he forced the calmest smile he could muster. Yugi was pale and trembling,  
his bulging eyes lingering at Yami's cast, and then in dismay to the police officer.

Yami was silent for a long time, as Yugi stood at his side, tormented and wanting to do anything to ease the horror of the realization. Grimly, Yami shifted to find a more comfortable position, and sighed bitterly. He glanced at Yugi, and noted his bestfriend's deep, deep anguish over this new information. Sighing, Yami turned to him.

"Yugi, I am about to give this officer my statement on the wreck, and I don't want you subjected to enduring any more of this ordeal than you have to. Would you mind going down to the cafeteria for a few moments?"

Yugi looked as if Yami had unexpectedly hit him."Yami, I want to be here for you, through all of this. Don't shut me out because you think that I can't handle it!"

Yami shook his head, and softly spoke, "Yugi, it's not that I don't believe that you can handle hearing about the wreck. You have always been there for me, through everything, and I will need your help in navigating through this. Yugi, I trust you and respect you more than anybody,  
you know that. So, please trust me now when I tell you that I honestly can't explain this to you.  
Not yet."

Yugi stared at Yami for a long, considering moment, before he finally nodded. "I don't understand,  
Yami...but I'll leave it alone for now. I'll bring you back some sweet tea from the cafeteria."

Yami gave him the first real smile that Yugi had seen throughout the grim ordeal. "Thank you, Yugi.  
For everything. I know that I will not be able to get through this without you."

Yugi smiled back. "Yami, the worst is over now. Let's just focus on getting you back to normal,  
alright? I'm here for you, you know that."

Yami nodded, and gently shooed Yugi out of the room, warily watching his retreat until he knew that he was out of earshot. Grimly, he turned back to the unpleasant task at hand,  
politely inviting the police officer to take a seat if she wanted.

She peered at Yami over her pad, clearly wanting answers as Yami sat back.

"What specifically do you want to know, miss?"

For the first time, she gave Yami a look of sympathy as she carefully worded her answer.  
"What was done to you is unforgivable, but it may not hold up in a court of law, Mr. Moto.  
The ingrate who hit you is already trying to arrange a plea bargain to avoid the charges."

Yami's eyes narrowed. "In that case, allow me to give you any information that you would find helpful in bolstering your ability to prosecute."

The officer scribbled away as Yami recounted the peaceful drive home, the severed night when the car suddenly collided with his. He told of the terrifying roll off the highway,  
the blinding pain of his injuries, the erratic swerve of the other car.

Unknown to Yami, the officer had interviewed the admitting doctor who had first tended to Yami, and knew that he was clean, and not responsible for what had happened to him.  
It made her gut clench to look at his broken nose, the shattered eye socket, that polite consideration he had shown throughout his ordeal. It was all the more vicious that Yami had not spoken with any self-pity, or rancor, but gave a detailed, detatched account of the event that should have killed him.

When he was finished, she rose from his bedside, politely tilting her head in farewell as she prepared to was prepared to give him her card, and let him know that the police would be in touch, when Yami abruptly blurted out:

"Do you know who did this to me?"

The question felt like a blow and she grimly shoved her pad and pen back onto her belt.  
Turning to face Yami, she finally spoke. "Mr. Moto, keep in mind that the suspect has to go through trial and sentencing before the punishment-if any- is decided upon by the legal sytem. What was done to you is inexcusable, but that alone isn't enough to merit legal action, I were you, I would focus less on what happens to the ingrate, and more on moving on with your life. However, I can tell you this much:the suspect who hit you?  
his name is Seto Kaiba. You'll get the official paperwork about the charges and what not whenever they're processed. For now, though, I wish you a swift recovery. Thank you for your time, Mr. Moto." 


	6. Little Brother

"Seto Kaiba?" Yami mouthed the name in a disbelieving whisper, as his eyes swept down from his broken bones , and back to the police woman. "He is the man responsible for this?" The officer hesitated before she lay a comforting hand over his good shoulder with a grim little nod. "I'm afraid so, Mr. Moto. I don't know if this is any comfort to you, but he is facing some time in prison for this, if it does go to trial."

Yami's eyes narrowed as he shifted to look back at her. "Do you mean there's a chance that he could get away with this?"

She almost snarled out her answer as she glowered at the cast, and the IV pole. "In a way, Mr. Moto, he already has. He was uninjured in the wreck."

His eyes bulged at that, as he finally shook his head, and sighed deeply. "I see." His voice was unrevealing as he forced a polite smile. "Thank you for your time. Is there anything else that you needed to know, miss?"

She shook her head, curtly and answered, "If there is something else, I'll be in touch. I'm leaving you my card in case you have any questions. Please accept my wishes for a speedy recovery, Mr. Moto."

"Thank you."

Yugi had apparently been waiting outside his door, because he exchanged a worried look at the officer as she only shook her head with a kind smile and went on her way. Yugi watched as she disappeared down the hall, her staccato steps finally fading away as she went, writing on her pad and muttering under her breath.

Yugi did not turn back to face Yami until he heard the weary sigh, and the uncomfortable groan as Yami eased himself upright. It was truly an ordeal of arranging his various injuries into the least painful positions, especially with the broken leg. Yami was as stoic as usual as he finished maneuvering the pillow he kept his cast propped on, but he winced in pain and halted several times before he was finally comfortable and upright enough to talk.

At Yugi's look of concern, Yami answered the silent question, "I'm alright, Yugi, and if I was not, there is more than adequate pain medication to ensure that I am. My injuries look much worse than they actually feel."

Yugi shook his head . "Yami, it's hard enough for me to see you like this. Don't make it worse by forcing yourself to hide the hurt on account of me. I know you too well for that."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, as Yami debated concealing Kaiba's role in his injuries to shield Yugi, and Yugi mentally calculating how much coddling Yami would misinterpret. It was interrupted by the sudden release of held breath, the shudder that gripped Yugi's entire frame, and the quiet sob that burst out before he could choke it back.

Yami instinctively lurched forward to give comfort, and growled at the flare of pain when his injuries reminded him that he could not.

"Yugi? What is it?" Yami blurted the query in growing alarm as Yugi only hitched his shoulders in answer and scrubbed a shaking fist across his teary face.

Yugi did not answer for a long moment, but he leaned forward and carefully gathered Yami in an embrace. He felt Yami stiffen in surprise, and the lurching motion of Yami gathering Yugi against him, in a futile attempt to comfort.

"Yugi, I'm alright." Yami whispered fiercely, as he glared at his busted foot and winced when he moved his shoulder wrong.

"I know." Yugi's teary voice burbled up between them. "And I'm so glad, Yami. I thought...I thought that I had lost you."

Silence, laced with horrified realization as Yami shivered inwardly but maintained his mask of concern for Yugi. "But, you didn't, Yugi, and you never will. I'm still here, aren't I?"

Yugi trembled anew as he gently stepped away from Yami to look into his eyes. "Yami, you almost died. Don't try to be brave for me, it's not going to help."

Yami nodded, suddenly finding Yugi's presence invasive and the subject of conversation unbearable. Forcing a yawn, he gently nudged Yugi away, not bothering to disguise the flinch of pain. Yugi's face contorted at the motion, his hands already beseeching and held out to do _something_ to help. Yami carefully lowered himself back into the sheets with a reassuring smile to Yugi, that was nearly crumbling with the emotions roiling in his gut. "Yugi." Yami masterfully kept his tone light and unaffected, "They will be delivering my pain pill soon, and I'll be going to sleep shortly afterwards. Would you please come by later on this afternoon to see me? I am sorry that I am not much company at the moment."

Yugi looked guilty as he hastily gave his apologies and assurances that he would certainly leave now and come back later. Yami finally convinced him to leave, but only after enduring several more apologies and several needless promises that he was alright and would ask for pain management if he needed more.

The silence in the room was welcome and invasive as Yami finally sat back in his bed with a huff and crossed arms to process what had happened to him, and who had done this to him.

_Seto Kaiba_

Hatred was not an emotion that Yami normally felt, or tried to hold on he felt the vicious and abrupt bite of it seize in his gut, he felt overwhelmed by how deeply it swelled and burned. Yami's fingers clenched into helpless fists, as if he could wrench the thoughts from his mind and somehow strangle them the way he wished he could envision.

His skull throbbed as he lay his head back into the pillow, swallowing back the sudden urge to shriek. Outrage chafed, the numb disbelief warred against the agonizing realization that his life could have ended over something as insignificant as a few drinks.

Wearily, he scrubbed a palm through his bangs, allowed his fingers to trail gently over the wilting bulges of the right side of his face, disgusted at the bloated swelling, and grimacing when he accidently poked one too hard.

He was regularly interrupted by a long, strange parade of medical personnel, who cooed over his recovery as they poked and prodded and monitored and invaded his body and privacy. He was coddled like an infant and nearly drowning in the steady stream of glib reassurances that he was going to be alright. Yami exhaled at the vicious, searing clarity that they were all wrong.

Broken bones may slowly grow back to being used again. His bruises would eventually fade and only leave scars. There was nothing to be done for the strange, new angle of his broken nose or the rage, or the helplessness that such a thing could be done to him. He could not physically retaliate against Kaiba, and his gut clenched at the sick idea that the bastard might actually escape all punishment for what he had done.

Seto bolted awake, sweating and shivering from yet another nightmare. He still heard the aftermath of the nightmare-the sheering of metal, the car propelling itself off the highway, the crash, and then, the blood slowly dribbling in a puddle from the shattered windshield. Mercifully, he had always awoken before he saw whose blood was actually involved, but after several nights of repeating the horrific night in his head, he felt torpid and nearly sick.

Rolland had recommended that he take a leave of absence from the running of KaibaCorps, at least until the media scrutiny died down. After running the gauntlet of flashing lights and invasive questions just to get to his office, Seto spent the day barking orders, turning himself in useless knots, and finding his once considerable self-control fragmenting under the twin burdens of guilt and self-loathing. There was little hope in attempting to keep such a mistake hidden, of course. Seto Kaiba was known for being rich, and being a bastard..a label that had gained considerable accuracy. Getting drunk, in itself, was out of character, but forgivable. Getting drunk, driving and injuring somebody as iconic as Yami Moto was unforgivable, and Seto was regularly reminded of this fact. He stopped watching the news after watching himself become vilified. He quit reading the paper after reading so many editorials damning his name. And he became a virtual prisoner in his own home because he knew that he deserved it. And, as if it weren't gut-wrenching enough, he had to explain what he had done to Mokuba.

His beloved little brother had come home in tears the morning after Seto's night in jail. Rolland had managed to gently steer Mokuba away for a bit, lying and telling him that Seto was sleeping because he had was ill, and not hung-over.

Mokuba had stared up at Rolland with those dark eyes widening and deepening with anguish before he shook his head, and burst into Seto's room, bellowing his name.

Seto groaned himself awake, but was instantly alert at the sound of Mokuba's sobbing, as the young boy spilled out the horrible things that were said about Seto.

Seto could only sit there, paralyzed and helpless, and anguished as he gathered Mokuba in his sheltering arms, and groped for words that would never, never be enough.

Each word of admission felt like a boulder being heaved from his throat as he gently explained, "Mokuba…I made a mistake last night."

And his younger brother's eyes bulged at the admission that his god-like older brother could do something wrong. Hesitating, Seto swallowed hard,and forced himself to continue.

"It was an accident. I didn't mean to do it, and I am very sorry for it, but it still happened. Mokuba, you are going to hear a lot of people getting mad at me, and saying mean things because they are upset that I made this mistake. I'm going to try and make it right, but since some people think that I did this on purpose, they're going to stay mad at me for a long time. .."

Mokuba squirmed against Seto, tilting his head against Seto's shoulder to peer up at him. "Big brother, if you told them you were sorry, they can't stay mad at you…can they? Especially if you didn't mean to do it."

Seto forced a smile at the childish innocence, his heart aching all the more as he cradled his precious little brother next to him, barely able to stop the urge to wail at the cruelty of the situation to somebody so helpless.


	7. No Absolution

Seto's faltering footsteps sounded as loud as thunder against the shining tiles as he forced himself onward down the hospital wing. The lights seemed to glare down on him, condemning him, as he kept his head bowed with the guilt, and his clinched hands balled deep into the pockets of his trench coat. The material seemed too frail to shield him from the imagined hatred hurled at him from every annoyed look. A harassed admittance secretary had waved him through without so much as a glance. A kindly candy-striper had directed him to the recovery wards, and the distance between Yami's room number and his last few steps seemed remarkably short. The door was slightly open, the silence suddenly brittle to the point of unbearable. Seto stood, wrenched to the ground, and unable to move forward from the fear, and unable to simply turn around from the guilt.

He lay his hand against the indifferent wood, curled fingers into another fist that he shoved deeper against his side, when he saw Yami Moto's name against the plate. He swallowed hard, cobbled together the fragments of his once considerable will, and still lingered.

He heard the shifting of cloth, as somebody in a bed either turned over or sat up. There was a long moment of silence, and then he heard Yami's voice call out, "Who is there?"

Seto swallowed hard, gave an anguished glance to the hallway, and forced himself to enter Yami's room. The room was lit by the single lamp on the side table, and the overhead lights were turned down to a muted sepia.

Seto heard Yami's breath being bitten off by the sudden exhalation of shock. Yami was trembling from the strain of rising from his comfortable nest, as he propped himself up on the pillow upright. Seto flinched, first at the wince of pain, and then in the horrific realization of how much damage he had inflicted on Yami.

Yami's face was a mottled distortion of the bruised and swollen left eye, with the bandaged and crooked nose bent at an odd angle. Seto felt the glare from Yami's good eye like a blow, as Yami's mouth twisted into an uncharacteristic sneer.

Yami relished that bone deep shudder from Seto as he lurched forward, and halted less than three feet from the bedside. They stared at each other, anguish and seething rage mingling into miserable silence. Seto's eyes bulged as they unwillingly slid from Yami's glower to the fractured arm and leg, the casts still resting on pillows, the fingers and toes bloated and purple.

"How is it that you made the mistake, and I'm the one suffering for it, Seto?"

The words were cruel, as Yami's good eye narrowed. Awkwardly, Seto slid his arms over his chest, attempting to shield himself from the torture to come.

It wasn't quite true, Seto was wounded in ways that were not so visible as Yami's broken bones. Seto blanched, opened his mouth to reply and then clamped it shut, wilting even more. Yami noted the flicker of guilt. Seto said nothing. Irritated, Yami winced as he gripped the bedrail in agitation.

"Why are you here?" It was a hissed whisper, snarled out as Yami sighed. Seto looked absolutely stricken as he swallowed hard, and attempted to speak past the sudden boulder lodged in his throat.

Seto bowed his head, as if preparing it for the executioner's ax, with the miserable realization that he really didn't know why he had come here. For absolution? An apology? The words faltered and nearly died when he attempted to answer.

"Nobody would tell me anything about what happened, except that I might have killed somebody, Yami."

Seto's eyes burned with tears as he bonelessly slid into the chair to avoid collapsing on the floor.

"You almost succeeded. " Yami snapped. "My car was airborne, and I landed upside down. They had to cut me out of the vehicle, and I spent 3 minutes in hell wondering if I was going to live. Were it not for the mercy of God, and my seatbelt, you and I would not be talking now."

Seto's face contorted, as Yami continued the horrific recitation of events with indifference to Seto's pain. "Do you have any idea how excruciating three fractured bones are, Seto? Do you know what it's like to be trapped upside down and unable to escape? Mercifully, none of my injuries are permanent, but it will take at least six months for me to regain my mobility, and nobody knows if my injured leg will function enough for me to walk without crutches once the bone is healed."

Seto shuddered, his hands twisting in the confines of his coat pockets as he steeled himself for what he had to say. His voice was harsh with the held-back pleading, and soft from the burden of trying to convey what words could not.

"Yami, if you knew how sorry I am….." His voice trailed off, as he hastily rose, finding the sudden ripple of emotion through his thoughts too unbearable to continue.

Yami barely concealed his dismay at Seto's pale, sorrowed face, as he clenched his eyes shut and drew a steadying breath.

"I didn't come here to beg for your forgiveness. I don't deserve it. If I could take back what I did to you, I would. It was a mistake that I'll live with for the rest of my life. I know that I deserve to feel like a bastard for this, and I do. I know that this will be hard for you to understand, Yami, but I didn't come here to make this situation worse for you. "

Yami raised an eyebrow at that. "Then why are you here?" He hissed out.

Seto bowed his head. "I want you to know that Kaibacorps will be covering any and all expenses related to this, including reimbursement for a new vehicle. I've already made the arrangements for it, and the hospital will provide the paperwork if you want to read it."

Yami said nothing for a long moment, as he shook his head. "If you are expecting me to be grateful for the charity, you are sadly mistaken, Seto. No amount of money can erase this."

"I know that!" Seto snapped and recoiled as he scrubbed a frustrated hand over his tired eyes. "Believe me, Yami…..I know. I'm not trying to buy my way out of this. I'm just trying to make it right."

Yami scowled at that, as Seto wearily continued, haltingly, "The officer investigating the wreck filed her charges with the district attorney. I got the summons this morning. Yami, I'm possibly going to prison, if that's any consolation."

Yami felt the numbing disbelief trickle through his thoughts like ice water as he watched Seto shut his eyes to staunch the tears. "I won't be fighting the charges, Yami. There's no point, now. " Seto rose from the plastic chair, his brittle eyes shimmering, as Yami shook his head, shocked.

Seto pivoted to face him, lingering at the doorframe. "If I could trade places with you, I would. At least then, I wouldn't have to live with this, and you'd be uninjured. I'm sorry, Yami. I hope that you can accept that, even if you don't forgive me for it."

Yami had no answer to that. It wouldn't have mattered, anyway. Seto gave him one last look of sorrow and remorse before he bowed his head, and left.


	8. Exposed

The brutality of those moments in the hospital room had left Seto even more disjointed now that he saw the magnitude of what he had done. It was written in searing clarity in those broken bones, the burning rancor of hatred and accusation as Yami glared up at him with his good eye.

His footsteps sounded hollow, mocking and cruel when he was reminded of the torturous fact that he was free to walk out of the hospital. From the brittle bits that Yami had flung at him, it was uncertain that Yami would ever walk again normally. There had been no spinal injury, no paralysis, nothing that would not mend in time..The reassurances that Seto told himself sounded dismissing and false. There was no way he could distance himself from this, there was no way he knew to escape this or make it right. And from Yami's open, silent loathing…Seto felt the hatred like a mouse felt a talon. It was inescapable, and only digging deeper.

Seto wearily attempted to scrape some of the ache away from his skull when he rubbed a tired hand through his hair, and let it fall to his side. The court summons was still neatly folded and tucked into his coat pocket and he felt the paper against his finger tips. Rolland had arrived to Seto's home office, grimly, and silently handed the envelope to him. Seto was just as grim, his eyes narrowing as he read the Domino Court House address.

It had been no surprise when he read the neatly typed document, informing him of the date for the arrangement. Seto had no criminal history, no hidden record, no buried crime in his past…but none of that seemed to matter now. Hell, he didn't even have a traffic citation before this! He was, technically, a first time offender, but one that resulted in catastrophic injury. He did not know if Yami's injuries had any bearing on the charges themselves.

He wasn't sure he could bear the thought of being separated from Mokuba, or how he would face incarceration and keep his sanity intact. He didn't know if he was going to be sent to rehab, and the idea of being caged with a bunch of drunks made him cringe. He wasn't an alcoholic in the sense that he couldn't live life without drinking. He had gotten drunk once and nearly killed somebody. Seto shook his head at that. Somehow, that made his situation feel even worse.

Of course, there was little hope of Seto's private anguish remaining private for long. Seto had not gone public in acknowledging anything about what he had done, and the Motos-so far-remained mercifully silent.

Yami would have been perfectly within his rights in seeking vengeance against Kaiba by going to the press and letting them see firsthand the damage done. Yami was well-known for his own gaming skills and was a beloved icon throughout Domino for his victory and his modesty in obtaining them. Seto was known for being rich, shrewd, and a bastard. If there was a trial based on public opinion, Seto was not blinded by his own ego enough to admit that Yami would win.

Gossip mags always gathered like vultures around him, ready to feed off the rotted aftermath. Yami could easily give them a feast with all the sordid details. There was nothing that Seto could say or do to negate that. How the hell could he defend himself against the truth? The truth was already trickling out through the local media. It was all over the news that Yami had been in a severe car-wreck.

Watching the outpouring of grief and speculation that Domino spewed forth on behalf of its hero was terrifying to Seto. There was scant details released, largely based on bits of information. It had been reported that Yami had been in a potentially fatal car-accident and that he had been rushed to the trauma unit of Domino City Hospital. Whether or not he had lived was unknown. More details slowly emerged. Yami's car had been hit by another driver, and Yami had endured a roll-over.

Seto had emerged as the monster when the local media graciously ran his mugshot through the nightly news. Seto and Mokuba were quietly huddled together in the smallest sitting room. Mokuba had wanted Seto to play a game, sensing his older brother's unspoken misery, but not knowing how to alleviate it. Seto indulged him by playing the game of Uno. The television was on for merely background noise as Seto lay his red card down, Mokuba pouting as he drew from the pile. Seto heard the snatches of his name and turned to the program. He watched in absolute horror as the anchorwoman crisply recited:

"_And now for an update on a story that we've been following since it started earlier this week. Legendary card-champ Yami Moto was involved in a two-vehicle accident shortly after midnight on Monday. Moto was reportedly involved in a severe wreck when his car was struck by a driver who had apparently swerved into the wrong lane. Domino City Hospital spokeswoman Connie Nelson has issued a statement saying that Moto was injured, but is expected to make a full driver who allegedly caused the wreck has been identified as KaibaCorps's CEO, Seto Kaiba. According to eye-witness accounts, Kaiba was reportedly at the scene of the accident and arrested when the attending officer suspected that he was intoxicated. Phone calls made to Seto Kaiba seeking comment were not returned._

Mokuba's jaw dropped to see the small box with Seto's bleary-eyed scowl and the small plaque bearing his name against the bricks of the prison wall. His eyes went huge and questioning as he turned to his big brother. There was only the sharp hiss of breath, as Seto shuddered and abruptly slammed a fist into the television's off button. The scene died with a whine as Seto tensely sucked in air in little pants of shocked rage and disbelief at such an invasion. His fingers did not unclench from their trembling coil, he couldn't. Not even when he heard Mokuba say his name uncertainly as he siddled up to his big brother's side, and hesitantly wrapped his small arms around Seto's heaving frame.


	9. Aftermath

Yami stared dubiously at the avalanche of get-well cards that had arrived in a steady stream, ever since the news broke that he was hospitalized. Daily, he was barraged with the kind wishes of nameless masses. It was an unexpected outpouring that cheered him considerably. He had also been given the long awaited report about the damage to his shattered leg. The screws that held the bones together would stay in for at least a few months, and he would be on crutches for a while. But there was no permanent damage done, and while the healing would be slow, it would come. Best of all, Yugi and Grandpa Moto had come in with the blessed, blessed news that he would be discharged tomorrow. It was highly likely that he would need some physical therapy to regain the full use of his body after such a trauma, but he would worry about that after being discharged. For now, his busted leg was usually propped up on a pillow. He was supposed to keep it as elevated as possible, and off of it as much as possible, even more so. When necessary, he tottered around on a crutch, wobbly and awkward as a newborn foal. It was even worse since he also had the fractured wrist to contend with. Being upright was an ordeal. Yami's pace of movement was a lurching, tedious balance of his crutch being thrust forward and maneuvering the rest of his body to follow. Unless he had to go to the bathroom, Yami seldom ventured from the hospital room.

The swelling of his face had gone down considerably, and the garish black and purple was slowly fading. Yami could gradually make out his familiar facial features emerging from the trauma. It was reassuring to gently touch his cheek and feel the bone under the flesh and not wince in agony at the sensation.

Yami had greeted Yugi with a bright smile each time he visited, and coddled him with even brighter reassurances that he was just fine. Yugi had been busy moving Yami's stuff downstairs, Grandpa Moto was busy with arranging the furniture to be a bit more accommodating. When Yami raised a questioning eyebrow about that, Yugi had given him a shrug and said that the old man needed to do _something_. Yami just nodded in loving tolerance, and told Yugi how much he looked forward to coming home, and that he was _fine._ He repeated it as if it were a prayer, or a mantra, but he could not internalize the words, nor make them real. The wreck had done massive damage to his flesh, he wore those scars, lest he needed reminding of how close he had been to not being there at all.

And that knowledge left him emerging from the nightmares in a trembling, torpid sweat. It was the fear and the pain of how close he had come to death that haunted him. It was a chokehold of anguish he could not loose, it was gnawing at his thoughts, and wreaking havoc on his already shot to hell nerves.

In the darkness of the quiet room, in the solitude of the sleep that sometimes never came, Yami found that he had been stripped of some fundamental assumptions. Never had he thought that he would come so close to dying. Never had he imagined that surviving such a thing would involve being so mentally scarred from it. Never, never had he imagined that he would have to grapple with a newfound emotion….hatred.

Seto Kaiba's name blistered against his lips, and left him nearly sick with loathing. Seeing the pathetic, broken wreck that Seto became as a result of his own guilt did nothing to negate what had happened. Yami still seethed at the gall Seto had in strolling into his hospital room, so invasive, and despised….

Yami, in his clearer moments, could barely choke back the shard of pity that his compassion infuriatingly invoked. Seto had been true to his word about paying for the hospital bills. The Motos didn't have to shell out one penny. The wrecked car had been replaced with a top of the line vehicle, paid for by Kaiba's funds. Grandpa Moto was dubiously torn about profiting from Yami's injuries, until Yami sensibly pointed out to the old man that they needed a car, and Seto owed them that much.

Most troubling of all, for Yami, anyway, was the knowledge that Seto's fate, far more than his own, would be forever defined by the one stupid mistake. It was an uneasy thing to grapple with. Yami still chafed with anger over his injuries, but that was somewhat assuaged by the disconcerting encounter with Seto.

Yami did not know how to react when the prosecutor had given him the news that Seto would be facing criminal charges. She also let him know that just because Seto was paying his hospital bills, it did not mean that the Motos were exempt from suing him, if they wanted. Yugi gave the curt suggestion that Yami feel free to clean out Seto's bank account, and send him to prison. Grandpa Moto had looked rather shocked by Yugi's uncharacteristic outburst, and then to Yami with sad compassion.

"Yami, Yugi. I know that this has been a horrible situation for all of us, but I think it best we focus on Yami getting better and moving on, not vengeance. I don't think that's a path that we need to go down."

Yugi bit his lip, but nodded, slowly as Yami mulled that over, as he glared down at his cast. Between the wreck, the days in the hospital, the meetings with the police and prosecutor, and holding his emotions in check, he felt scraped raw.

"Grandpa? Would you please go down to the gift shop and get me a journal? I …have a lot on my mind, with all of these legal proceedings, and I would prefer to write them down to keep them straight."

Grandpa Moto's forehead furrowed with that odd request, but after seeing Yami's silent plea, when he looked at Yugi, the old man huffed in paternal soothing as he ambled out of the room.

Yugi scowled in concern when his grandfather left, and then looked at Yami. Silently, he grabbed the chair, arranged it as close as he could to Yami's bedside, waiting.

"Seto came here last night." Yami admitted quietly as he crossed his arms and looked at Yugi, gauging the reaction.

Yugi held back the snarl for Yami's benefit, and Yami appreciatively pat his wrist. "I know that this situation hasn't been easy on you, Yugi, and I wouldn't be getting through this without you. I'm not telling you this because I want to make this more difficult for you: I am telling you this because I didn't want to keep anything from you."

Yugi closed his eyes at that, drew a long, shaking breath. "Yami, the first question you asked when you came out of the surgery and realized what had happened was if you hurt anybody. And then, you were grateful to find out that you didn't. Ever since this happened, you've been trying to protect me, and you don't have to. Yami, for once, let me be here for you, alright?"

Yami blinked back the sudden wet that rose to his eyes, and he smiled at Yugi in gratitude. "You've always been there for me, Yugi, in ways that you will never know. However, it is good to be reminded of that. Thank you."

The awkward, but comforting moment passed when Yugi reluctantly directed the conversation back to the surprise visit of Kaiba. "What did Seto want?"

Yami hitched his good shoulder in answer. "I honestly don't know what he wanted, Yugi. It was very odd. He apologized for what happened, and told me he was taking responsibility for it, whatever that might mean."

Yugi curled a lip as if he had eaten something unpleasant. "He was probably advised by the KaibaCorps publicity team to come down here and try to avoid damage to his image. That, or he was trying to dodge the legal action by pretending to give a rip when he volunteered to pay your medical bills…."

"Seto told me that he wasn't going to contest the charges, even if it meant that he was sentenced to prison, Yugi. The court papers have already been filed, and there was nothing in there about Seto disputing what happened, or plea bargaining, or avoiding anything."

Yugi raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You don't find this sudden interest in doing what's right to have odd timing? Since when the heck has Kaiba ever cared anything about who gets hurt by what he does, Yami? As for contesting the charges, there's nothing to contest. He would look like an absolute idiot if he stood up and said that he _didn't_ do this to you."

Yami drummed his fingers against the bedrail. "Yugi, I honestly don't think that Seto intended for any of this to happen. He told me that he would gladly trade places with me if it meant that he could make this right."

"That doesn't matter, Yami. It still doesn't do anything about the fact that you're laying here, busted up in this hospital, on account of _him." _

Yami shifted uneasily, troubled by both his anger, and the image of Seto's tears.

"It may not do anything to change the fact that I am here, Yugi, but it does change my thoughts about how much he may deserve to incarcerated, and separated from Mokuba. Mokuba is innocent in this as well, and he is only a child."

Yugi's bitterness had yielded a bit, by then. As much as he wanted Seto to pay for Yami's wounds, he didn't relish the thought of Mokuba being apart from the only family that he had.


	10. The Outcome

It was a testimony to Kaiba's considerable will that he walked with no fear, and no hesitation up the marble steps of the courthouse on the morning of the hearing. After considerable deliberation, and consulting with the legal team, Seto had agonized before pleading guilty to the charges. The prosecutor had accepted the answer without question, and after a few more terse meetings with the defense attorney, and the district attorney, Seto's plea was allowed to be entered as it was.

And, now, all that was left to do was to wait to know if he was going to prison. The morning had been agonizing. He had told Mokuba only the barest of details, and had cloistered and distracted his little brother from the reality of what was happening. Mokuba was aware that something was wrong, but in his childish innocence, accepted Seto's explanation of an "important meeting" with nothing more than a shrug as he settled down to watch television. With one last, lingering embrace, Seto let his brother go, and finally made his way to the waiting car.

Roland silently shut the door, and took his place beside his young boss, glancing worriedly at Seto's haggard slump. Seto caught the concern, and wearily sighed. "Whatever happens, will happen, Roland. At least then, some of this will be over with."

Roland forced a smile. "Of course, sir. I am sure that there will be a favorable outcome. You shouldn't be punished like a criminal when you made a mistake."

Seto just shook his head, and pursed his lips. Roland remained silent the rest of the way, feeling that the reassurance had offered was somehow wrong. The ride over was far too short, for Seto's liking. Roland shook his head in disgust at the invasive throng of media whores, already lined up on the steps and waiting for their fix on Seto's anguish. Without waiting for the order to do so, Roland got out and came around to open the limo door for Seto. Seto ignored the shouts, the screams, the speculations as he paused to straighten the hem of his trench coat. With a nod to Rolland, he marched to the courthouse, neither paying any heed to the gathering crowd, nor revealing any thoughts.

Seto Kaiba strode onward through the gauntlet of flashing lights, shouting questions, the media hordes almost breaking over the press barriers like a tidal wave. He strode unflinching through the throngs, flanked by the ever-faithful Roland, and a few members of his legal team. Seto kept his facial expression unrevealing as he glanced over his shoulder at the swarm. Roland, noticing the minute tremor that suddenly gripped Seto's frame, lay a hand on his shoulder and gently propelled him forward. Seto shook his head, and raised a palm silently asking for a moment. The courthouse was a massive marble building, gleaming coldly under the wan light of the morning. Seto swallowed hard, and inhaled sharply. The building reminded him of a tomb, and Seto did not know if he would be leaving this place free, or in shackles. He paused to allow Roland to open the glass door, and he entered with a curt nod of gratitude.

The small, humble Honda driven by Solomon Moto was unnoticed by the mob as he muttered irately under his breath and slid the car into the nearest parking spot. Yugi was already unbuckling his seatbelt, and Yami was gaping, wide-eyed at the gauntlet. Yugi lingered in the seat, troubled, as Yami shook his head.

"I had no idea that this event was so well-known, Yugi." Yami said quietly, as Yugi shrugged. "Well, you are known world-wide for the tournaments, and Seto is pretty famous. At least you're not the villain here."

Yami flinched at those words, but it was unnoticed by Yugi. Solomon quirked an eyebrow at his two grandsons. "I think it best we be on our way, boys. Yami, do you need help getting out of the car?"

Yami shook his head as he unbuckled the belt and let it coil back in place. He ignored Yugi's wary look as he opened the car door, hoisted himself up by balancing on the cast, and then tucked his crutch under his arm. He heard Yugi's soft sound of protest and concern, but ignored it. Yami rocked downward slightly, shifting his weight to his "good" foot, before carefully setting his cast down. It could hold weight as long as he didn't jar the broken bones, and it made walking much easier. Yami looked over his shoulder to see Yugi and Solomon coming to his side. Solomon's jaw dropped at the long line of the press, and Yugi was staring dubiously at it. Inwardly, Yami trembled, as he forced himself to thrust the crutch forward.

"Let's go." He said quietly, as he began to hobble up the steps. Solomon looked at his resolve in surprise, but followed Yami's tottering path. It was an embarrassing climb up the steep steps. It was made even more awkward knowing that it was being photographed and filmed for the viewing of the world, for all Yami knew. Yami maneuvered his crutch by thrusting it downward, then swinging his body upward, rearranged his weight to accommodate the next lurching step. He was slow in getting to his destination, but Solomon told him that they were not late in entering the court room. The bailiff, seeing Yami's crutch and numerous injuries, opened the door, and allowed the Motos to enter. Yami lopped along first, warily taking in the mahogany-trimmed wood, the dark red carpet that threaded through both of the stands in the court room. Yugi and Solomon followed at each of his sides. Since Seto had already pled guilty, there was no trial, and no need of a jury or a monstrous amount of legalities. The only thing that was left to decide was what the punishment would be.

Yami felt Yugi stiffen, and heard his breath suddenly exhaled sharply. Concerned, Yami gave him a questioning glance as Solomon only lay a heavy hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He saw the source of their distress when Seto and his staff began their entrance on their side of the courtroom. Seto was flanked by Roland, he was the only staff member Yami could recognize. Seto must have felt the weight of their eyes, because his bowed head suddenly shot upward, and he met Yami's stare, stricken. Yami sucked in a breath, troubled and uncertain as Seto dropped his eyes to the floor and stiffly arranged himself before the judge appeared.

The bailiff announced that the "Honorable Colleen Gabell" was now entering the court, and all were commanded to rise. Yami irritably winced as he struggled to be upright and scowled when they had all sat back down right after he finally stood.

Judge Gabell turned out to be a sharp-featured, withered old woman, with her thin and silvered hair drawn back in a bun, and her black glasses perched on her long nose. She reminded Seto of a hawk ready to pounce when she glowered from him to Yami and back again. The silence was almost unbearable as she glared at the docket papers that outlined the case, the charges, and the plea. She blinked owlishly at Seto, before she barked at him,

"Young man, do you understand the serious nature of the charges you've pled guilty to?"

Seto swallowed, but met her eyes, his voice clear and calm as he answered. "Yes, your honor. I do."

She cocked an eyebrow, and tilted her head to Kaiba's attorney. "I understand that this is his first brush with the law. Has the defendant been read his rights, and does he understand the full consequences that he faces in foregoing a jury trial?"

"My client does, your honor. Mr. Kaiba does not wish to change his plea."

She huffed at that, and curtly answered, "I see." She turned her searing gaze to Yami, drinking in the healing bruises on his face, the wilted posture, the vague tremor of his nerves. Her eyes softened a bit when she addressed Yami.

"Are you the one who was injured in the wreck?"

Yami nodded. "Yes, your honor. I am." She shook her head at that. "Could you describe to me the exact nature of your injuries, Mr. Moto? And, please, feel free to sit down if you need to." She added, kindly.

Yami replied with a polite smile, and a nod. "Thank you for the courtesy, your honor, but it's not necessary. As for my injuries, I have a fractured shin bone, a broken wrist, a dislocated shoulder, multiple bruises and a broken nose. While these injuries are troublesome, they are not permanent, and I am well on my way to a full recovery."

She huffed at that, and glared at Seto, who flinched as if stabbed. "Mr. Moto, would you like to address the court?"

Yami gave Seto a long stare, his eyes unreadable, before he turned back to the judge. "Yes, your honor, I would."

Shifting so he could look at Seto, Yami sighed, wearily.

"Kaiba, your mistake nearly cost me my life. When your car collided into me, and broke my bones, when they finally cut me out of the car…" Yami halted to gather his shattered thoughts, before he continued.

"They didn't know if I was alive. In those horrible moments, when I lay there in that twisted metal, dangling from my seatbelt, in agony, I didn't know if I was going to see Yugi again. And when I spent those long days in the hospital, I spent a lot of time thinking how damn much I hated you for doing this to me."

Seto's eyes were glittering from the tears, as he choked out, "I would take it back if I could, Yami."

Yami closed his eyes, and nodded, turning to the judge. "Your honor, I don't know if my words will have any bearing on the outcome of this case. I've already been punished by his mistake with my injuries. If it's at all possible, I ask that I not be burdened further with the knowledge that Seto pays for this with his very life. Yami turned to Seto, the words heavy and heaved out with emotion.

"Your Honor, Seto has a younger brother whose life would be even more altered than mine if his guardian and only family member were taken away from him. Seto needs to pay for what he's done, but not with a prison sentence."


	11. The Hearing, Part I

There was only silence after Yami had finished addressing the court. Seto watched, unnerved as Yami slowly hitched the crutch back under his shoulder, and lurched his hobbling path back to the bench where Solomon and Yugi were seated. Both the Motos looked equally surprised, as Yugi whispered something to Solomon, who only shrugged and lay a reassuring hand on his grandson's shoulder. Yami shuffled past Seto's legal team, and halted for a moment, to peer at Seto. Seto opened his mouth to hurl the astonished question. Yami seated himself back in the protective cluster of his family, and did not look back to gage Seto's reaction.

Yugi scooted over, and scowled when he saw Yami wince as he moved something wrong. The scowl only deepened when Yami finally arranged his injuries enough to notice Yugi's puzzled glare, and silence. Troubled, Yami turned to him and asked, "Yugi? What's wrong?"

"How can you just act like Seto did nothing to you?!" Yugi hissed. Yami stiffened in surprise at the uncharacteristic venom. "Yugi, I-" Yami attempted an explanation, but was halted by the slam of the gavel on the docket desk as Judge Gabel glowered at them into uneasy silence.

She looked at Seto, distastefully, and shook her head, and then squinted down at Yami with a minute shake of her head.

"Very well. We will have a brief recess of one hour. I will be back with my decision then."

The bailiff boredly chanted, "All rise," as the judge swept out of her perch and back into her chambers. The bailiff followed, leaving the uneasy crowds awkwardly flicking glances at each other, clearly at a loss as to what to do. Solomon looked at both of his grandsons, and with a brightly false attempt at cheer, announced, "Since we have a few minutes, what do you boys say to getting a bit of lunch?"

Yami glanced up at his grandfather, and then to Yugi, before he curtly nodded, and attempted a polite smile. "I'm actually quite hungry, and it will take me a bit to hobble my way to the cafeteria." Without glancing back at Yugi, he hobbled forward after Solomon. It was an attempt to distance Yugi and his unexpected snarl from his own uneasy thoughts about Seto's punishment, and a temporary reprieve. Yugi was seething, but managed to keep his anger in check as Yami tensed at his glare. Yugi sighed a long, cleansing breath, and offered a reassuring smile for Yami's benefit. Yami's eyes narrowed and he raised a questioning eyebrow, as Yugi only shrugged it off. Solomon was either unaware, or ignoring the unspoken tension as the three made their way to the small cafeteria, with its tired selection of pre-packaged food. Solomon, sensing the unease between his two grandsons, took it upon himself to go order lunch of some sandwiches served on the Styrofoam trays.

Yami waited until the old man was out of hearing, before he levelly stared at Yugi. Sighing, he lay his palms down on the table after leaning his crutch against his chair.

"Yugi, I know that you are so angry about this situation because you care deeply about how injured I am. I wouldn't get through this at all if it weren't for your patience and compassion in helping me out in doing so many things that I can't do for myself.."

Yami paused, as he shut his eyes, and gently lay his good hand over Yugi's.

"What happened to me was terrible, but I'll recover from it, and move on with my life. My injuries are already healing, and soon, I'll be well. I know that what happened to me has also affected you, and I'm sorry that you couldn't be spared from this. Please don't think I don't know how much this has rattled you. You almost lost me, and that is not something that should be dismissed or taken lightly. I know that you don't agree with what I said in court. Yugi, I want you to understand something. I want to focus on regaining my ability to walk, and moving on. I can't do that by hating Kaiba. Neither can you."

Yugi's face twisted as he blurted out, "But, Yami, he nearly killed you! Maybe you can let that go, but I can't! Yami, you almost died! "

Yami said nothing, only maneuvered his good arm over Yugi's quaking back and drew him into a fierce, one-armed embrace.

"It is precisely because it nearly killed me, Yugi. I don't want to waste time on bitterness and hate, especially when I know how uncertain time can be. I know that this is difficult for you to understand, Yugi, but Seto is already imprisoned, in a way. He has to live with what he's done. There's no escaping that sort of punishment. Not court mandate will free him from that."

Yugi attempted a trembling smile as he finally answered. "I can't say that I don't agree with Seto not being incarcerated, but when you put in those terms, it's a bit more bearable."

Yami wryly shook his head. "I am glad that I have eased some of your discomfort over the situation, Yugi."

Unknown to them, Seto heard the snatches of conversation, as he silently sipped his tea and huddled in the small refuge of the corridor that shielded him from view. Guilt and sorrow and remorse all gnawed at him anew as he wearily resumed his slump and miserable thoughts. Were it not for Mokuba being left alone, he would have taken the punishment in place of this massive guilt he could not erase. Rolland, noticing the pinched line of pain that had settled on Seto's forehead, came over, worriedly.

"Sir? Are you alright?"

Seto stared up at him, blinking without seeing for a long moment. Frightened, Rolland touched his arm to dredge him back up from whatever horror his tortured thoughts were inflicting now. Seto tensed beneath the touch as he finally shut his eyes, and shook his head.

"No matter what the outcome is, Rolland, I can't forgive myself for this. I can't ever be free from it, and I I don't know how in the hell I'm supposed to live with this….." Seto's voice trailed off again.


	12. The Sentencing

Yami uneasily munched his grilled cheese, as he kept glancing at the clock. The hour was slow, and Yugi and Solomon were abnormally quiet. The three huddled uneasily together, on the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the small first floor café. For Yami, eating was still a chore since his choices were either attempt to maneuver silverware to his mouth, or finger foods that didn't require too much of a grip. He hadn't realized just how dependent he was on his right hand until he could not use it fully. The swelling had gone down, but his two broken fingers-the pointer and the middle finger-were immobilized by the tape and the splints. He had sensibly ordered fries, since he could still grip without too much of a hassle. His drink, he simply moved the cup to the edge of the table and sipped it with the straw.

It was a thousand little frustrations he had to navigate that he never had to even consider before. It left him exhausted and uncertain about how much more he could endure before he was healed. How long would it be before he could sleep without enduring a blood-soaked nightmare? Would his broken bones mend enough to be normal again, or was normalcy yet another unexpected thing that he had lost?

Yami did not know, and as he gave both Yugi and the clock another troubled glance, he wondered if he would ever find out again.

Hell, Seto had decided, was waiting. Rolland was hovering around him, obviously torn between concern and intrusion, and Seto finally sent him on an errand to obtain lunch. When Rolland was safely out of eyeshot, and Seto knew he was alone, he bowed his head, scrubbed his fingers through his hair, and left his face in the refuge of his own elbows. Yami's sudden and unexpected plea for mercy on Seto's behalf was both unsettling and disjointed. Seto was perplexed, and completely at a loss on how to handle that. It was a perverse realization that Seto felt even more broken with guilt, even if Yami had apparently forgiven him…or at least enough to not demand vengeance. Punishment would have negated at least some of the guilt, maybe, but Seto also had his little brother and his company to take care of. Neither would be possible if he was incarcerated. Rolland interrupted his tortured introspection with an understanding smile, and a Styrofoam tray heaped with greasy fries and a wilted burger. Seto stared at it in distaste, but gave Rolland his thanks as he took a bite of the burger, and gnawed at it as best he could. The iced tea was more soothing to his nerves, but even eating was taxing in a situation like this. Seto felt nearly sick at the grease as it slid down his throat and he shoved it away, burrowing his hands in his trench coat and sending another long look at the clock. Swallowing hard, he rose again, as Rolland flanked him. It was time to go back to the court room to receive his punishment.

There was a somber, tense line of all of them, as the Motos first arrived, and filed over to their seat. They were slow because of Yami's hopping lurch, but even with the limited use of his limbs, Yami remained eerily dignified, and calm. Seto felt his eyes on him a few times, but he did not have the guts to meet his stare.

The judge filed in at last. Judge Gabell peered down at the pile of papers with her glasses perched on her beak-like nose before she finally gazed at them all from her bench.

"I have reached a verdict. Seto Kaiba, you are sentenced to mandatory in-patient treatment for alcoholism, immediately, along with victim restitution. Failure to meet these requirements will result in the prison sentence being re-instated. Good luck to you, Mr. Kaiba. I hope that you consider this chance very seriously."

Seto's jaw fell open as the gavel slammed down, sealing his fate, and commuting his sentence. Rolland was already laying a hand over his quivering back, in reassurance, muttering paternal nonsense about how it was only temporary, and it was better than a jail sentence. Seto felt numb, sick, and terrified when he finally comprehended that he was being sent to 'rehab.'

Rehab. A place where drunks and druggies and all the dredges of society and its problems went to be purged of their ills. A court-appointed hell-hole for him to truly pay for what he had done, and worst of all, the stigma and the separation from his precious routines, and even more so, his beloved little brother.

Seto swallowed hard, as he grimly rose in shaking acceptance of his fate. His attorney curtly told him that he had gotten off easy, Seto only grunted sarcastically that if he needed a true reason to drink, he had now found it.

The ride home was strangely subdued. Yami seemed to be pensive, and uneasy, Yugi clearly unhappy with the sentencing, and Solomon making several failing attempts to negate the heavy, heavy silence.

When the verdict was finally handed down, Seto had looked like he had been shot, but simply hadn't fallen down, yet. Yami saw his face crumble in dismay, the anguished whispers of "No, God-Mokuba-" and the savage effort to hide the terror when Seto learned he was being sent away.

If Yami had expected to derive some satisfaction from knowing that Seto would be losing something from all that had happened, he found the compensation sorely lacking. If punishment was supposed to take away some of his own pain, it was failing, miserably.


	13. New Beginnings Rehab Center

Seto's suitcase lay open, and his choice of clothing already neatly folded and waiting. Mokuba was tensely perched on his older brother's bed, watching Seto grimly thumb through his closet and continue to lay out the necessities for his six week venture into his court-appointed hell. It was the most sordid, humiliating episode of Seto's life. He had braved the long line of paparazzi with their flashing cameras outside the courtroom with unflinching indifference. He ignored all media inquiries about the trial, he refused all requests for interviews and only issued an internal memo to the Kaibacorps' inner circle that he was continuing his leave of absence until further notice. He had parceled up the duties of leadership and running the company to his most trusted and faithful subordinates, and made it clear that he would be watching the proceedings.

Seto sighed as he gave the drug and alcohol treatment center brochure a troubled glance. The New Beginnings Treatment Center showcased rooms that resembled a college dorm, small, invasive, and rather grimy compared to Seto's own private bedroom. The junkies on the brochure were beaming and cheerfully quoted extolling their deliverance from drugs and alcohol. Seto reminded himself that it was only for six weeks, and not an eternity. Staring down at what was going to be his home for the next month and a half did nothing to make Seto feel any more reassured about it. Still, it was a better outcome than a jail sentence. Mokuba would be able to see him, and it would be over with soon. Sadly, those reassurances did nothing to quell the sudden fear that surged through Seto's gut. He had no idea what happened to people tucked away in places like that.

Mokuba only watched as Seto continued packing, before he finally ventured an uneasy conversation.

"Seto?" Mokuba sounded strangely timid as Seto halted with a shirt in his hands. Seeing Mokuba's troubled face, Seto put the shirt down and sat down beside Mokuba.

"Mokuba, what is it?" Seto prompted after waiting patiently for Mokuba to collect his thoughts. Seto flinched when he saw the tears glittering in those huge dark eyes, as Mokuba only sniffed back the sob and wiped his face with his sleeve.

"I'm scared of you going away. I don't want you to leave."

Seto said nothing, only gathered his precious little brother in his arms for a reassuring embrace as he buried his face in the dark hair. "Mokuba, I don't want to leave, either, but I have to go. You'll come and visit and I'll call. It won't be that long, Mokuba. I'll come back to you, I promise."

Mokuba bravely forced the smile as he tipped his chin up and flung his small arms around Seto's neck. "Promise, big brother?"

Seto whispered through his own concealed tears, "I promise, Mokuba. I'll be home soon."

That brittle farewell nearly broke Seto's heart as his limo continued its hated journey towards the New Beginnings Center. Seto had taken along Mokuba's picture, tucked away in its silver frame in his suitcase besides his neatly rolled socks and toiletries. Seto left Mokuba at the mansion, not wanting to expose him to any more of the horror of the situation than necessary. Rolland had stayed behind as well, for reassurances for Mokuba, and to negate some of the dread of Seto's departure.

The car stopped, and the driver timidly announced that they had arrived, hopped out and opened the car door. Seto warily stepped out, and eyed the place with disgust and well-hidden fear. Behind him, he heard the driver fumbling in the trunk for Seto's belongings. Seto thanked the man curtly as he took the suitcase and carry-on bag, hoisted it over his shoulder, and strode towards the glass doors of the entryway.

His bootheels sounded loud against the grey tiles, and he scowled at both the glaring residents who sat hunched in the small ring of plastic chairs. They had the air of cowed sloths, resigned and content to be addicted and sick. He shuddered when they eyed him. He must have unwittingly interrupted some sort of group therapy, because the counselor who was leading it abruptly halted the session, and rose, coming towards him.

Carefully, Seto fished out the court order from his coat pocket, and handed it to her before she could even speak. Lips curling disdainfully, he eyed her. "I was court ordered to be here at one p.m. Could you please tell me what admission procedures I need to go through?"

She gave him a strained smile. "Ahh, yes, Mr. Kaiba. Please follow me."

And Seto found himself following her like a lost puppy through the metal door, the hallway of shining tiles, the maze of corridors, and disgruntled residents shuffling their way past him. At long last, she halted to a small office. She tapped on the door, poked her head in, and spoke a few words with somebody inside. Apparently getting permission to leave, she smiled at Seto once more, and waved him in.

"I look forward to seeing you again, Mr. Kaiba. I hope you enjoy your stay here at New Beginnings."

Seto sighed, and said nothing as she shut the door and headed back to her therapy session. Dubiously, Seto glanced around the office. It was well-used, filled with shelves and file cabinets full of cases, papers neatly stacked, a computer humming, the phone's alarm blinking, and a harassed looking, plump woman nested in the middle of the mess.

"Can I help you?" The cheery inquiry ended with Seto's puzzled frown. Unhappily, he stepped around the desk to face her. "My name is Seto Kaiba. I'm here as a court-ordered admission." Seto was careful to keep his tone as polite as he could force himself to be. There was no point in alienating his keepers, yet.

She raised eyebrows as he fished out the official docket from the judge, and held it out to her. Blinking, she took the offered papers, glanced them over, and nodded in understanding. Silently, she refolded them and handed them back.

She smiled up at him, and waved him into one of the plastic chairs parked across from the battered metal desk. "Mr. Kaiba, welcome. I'm Corrine, one of the counselors. Please sit down, and we'll start on the paper work. Any questions?"

Seto narrowed his eyes. "What exactly will you people be doing to me while I'm here?"

She frowned up at him, as she continued to pile paper after paper into the admissions stack.

"We'll help you break away from a life of drugs and alcohol dependency." She said, clearly insulted.

"I don't have a chemical dependency problem. I'm here because I'm court-ordered." Seto's voice was dripping with ice and contempt as he continued his scathing appraisal of the place.

The silence was abruptly broken when she rounded on him. It was quite an impressive feat for her to glare Seto into submission even though he towered over her.

Her pleasant smile vanished, as she rose from her seat, clearly familiar and disgusted with hearing the same denials. Kaiba had to resist stepping an inch backwards when she halted inches from him. She resumed her silent scrutiny, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses. With her considerable bulk, and short height, she resembled a bulldog ready to gnaw out anything unpleasing or defiant. Clearly, she did not like Seto. Seto knew that he did not like her.

"Mr. Kaiba." She began, "You got drunk, and you nearly killed somebody. If that doesn't tell you there's a problem with your drinking, I would hate to see what would, son. You aren't here because you're court-ordered. You're here because of the consequences of your choices. You're lucky to be here. There's a lot of folks who have done just what you did, and didn't live to tell the tale. Save yourself the time and me the headache, please. There's a waiting list for people who *want* to be here. Are you staying, or going?"

Seto swallowed hard at the sudden roaring sound in his ears, as she glared up at him, waiting. He was trembling and nearly sick as the realization hit him anew that he was no longer free and able to go as he pleased. So, this was it, then? Signing himself over the mercy of this institution, or becoming an inmate? The clock's hands slid another minute, as he blinked, breathed, tried to fight the terror.

"Well? Are you staying or going, Mr. Kaiba? I don't have all day to wait for you to decide." The counselor already had her hand on the phone.

Seto couldn't fight the tremble that suddenly gripped his frame, as he shut his eyes. Images of Yami's bruises, the twisted wreckage, his little brother's tears, the crucifixion by the press…it was too much. It was all too much. He scrubbed a hand over his face, squeezed his eyes shut.

"I'm staying." He whispered hoarsely.

Something human shimmered in Corrin's eyes when she saw his anguish. Sighing, she gestured to the chair across from her desk. "Maybe you would feel better if I answered some of your questions? I don't want you to take this lightly, but I don't want you to be afraid of being here. Mr. Kaiba, we're here to help you. Clients have rights, just as they do 'outside' as some of our long-term folks call it." She gestured vaguely to the office window, that held a nearly pastoral scene of blue sky, of massive oaks gently bobbing in the breeze. A squirrel skittered by, and rocked back on its haunches before flickering up a tree trunk.

Seto made a small choking sound as he slid relunctantly into the chair, angrily snatching a pen from the caddy on the desk.

"What do you need me to sign, miss?" She tilted her head at the abrupt change. "Are you sure that you have no questions, Mr. Kaiba?"

Seto hitched his shoulders. "If I do, I will definitely let you know. Let's get the paperwork over with, please. The quicker I'm admitted, the quicker I can leave."

She shook her head. "You might as well know, now, Mr. Kaiba, that your six weeks here will mean nothing if you don't change what needs to be changed. Six weeks isn't a magic number to normalcy, it's a beginning to a lifetime of changing." She paused at his reaction.

"Humph." Seto grunted, as he shook his head. "Please spare me the bumper sticker slogans. Where's the papers?"

She fought the sadistic little bit of glee when Seto's eyes shot open with dismay. She hefted a binder with a three inch spine, stuffed with multiple form. Seto saw "S. Kaiba" scrawled across the binder's spine as she slammed the thick thing down between them. Somebody had very kindly insulted Seto's intelligence by highlighting all the places he needed to sign his name.

The first round of papers was nothing more than several copies of the confidentiality agreements. Seto had initialed each one of them. The second round was a grim recitation of the rules, and policies. Seto read through that while she called in another counseling tech to search through his bags. He was allowed to keep the picture of Mokuba, but not the glass, or the frame. It was considered dangerous, she explained as she haphazardly dumped the frame in a plastic baggy and set it aside. It was the first of many insults to Seto's dignity.


	14. The Deeper Wound

The smell of pancakes, and the familiar sounds of Solomon bustling about in the kitchen to make breakfast was usually a comforting ritual for a leisurely Saturday morning. The welcome aroma evoked an unwilling growl of Yugi's stomach as he yawned and rolled out of bed. Stretching, he tossed the blanket back on his bed, and wrapped a bathrobe over his pajamas. Solomon was already bellowing out his unnecessary command to come and eat.

Yugi answered back that he was coming, and made his way down stairs. The scene was homely, and comforting, the plates already piled high with the steaming pancakes, dribbling with butter and syrup.

Solomon gave Yugi a wide smile, as Yugi went to the fridge and got out the milk and glasses. Solomon frowned, puzzled at Yami's absence. He was usually an early riser, even on the weekends, and he usually enjoyed eating breakfast as much as Solomon enjoyed cooking them.

Solomon noted Yugi's questioning look to the shut door of Yami's bedroom, and shook his head with a tolerant smile. "Maybe it's best we let him sleep, Yugi. He has been through quite a bit, and could probably use the rest."

Yugi shrugged, uneasily at that. "You're probably right, Grandpa. He probably could use the sleep."

Any concern was forgotten with the golden fluff of heaven as Yugi shoved the pancakes into his mouth and relished their taste. Grandpa had outdone himself again.

Yami groaned himself awake, and wished that he could go back to sleep when he felt the malaise gripping his body. He noticed first the brittle contrast of fever and chills, the shivering and the sweat comingling as he twisted fretfully. He knew that he was ill, but he did not know how much, or why as of yet. He pulled the damp blanket back over his chest, and noted uneasily that the sweat was cloying to his forehead and the rest of his flushed face. Shivering, he burrowed down deeper into the quilts, as well as he could with his limited mobility.

His broken calf was throbbing, the dull torpid ache growing from easily ignored to nearly blinding pain. Yami whimpered as he pulled the injured limb free from the bedding to examine it. The fracture was still immobilized by the cast. The flesh peeking out from the knee down was clearly inflamed, the bright flesh an alarming shade of red. It had been one of the symptoms that Yami had been told to watch for. He shivered as he timidly lay a hand on his toes and flinched at the heat.

Yugi was midway through his first bite when he heard Yami's nearly pleading cry of his name. It was laced with fear, and pain as Yugi dropped the fork and bolted to his feet.

Both of the Motos were mercifully quick to appear in Yami's bedroom. Yugi was there first, sending his grandfather a panicked glance as he halted by Yami's bedside.

Yami was hunched over his injured leg, his fists tucked against his sides, his face pinched and withered with the strain of trying to choke down the hysteria.

"Yami?" Yugi's voice sounded timid, as Solomon bellowed in alarm, "What's wrong, boy?"

Yami turned to Solomon, as he whispered in restrained anguish, "It's my leg, Grandpa. There's something very wrong with it."

Dubiously, Solomon looked down at Yami's limb. His eyebrows climbed higher and higher when he saw the vivid scarlet hue. Very gently, he lay a palm across the flesh and felt the heat of infection radiating from the skin.

Grimly, Solomon asked, "Are you in pain, Yami?"

Yami met his eyes. "It's excruciating." The admission was softly spoken, and tremoring as Yami hissed and shifted. Solomon sighed as he rose. "We're going back to the hospital, then. Yugi, stay with him while I go get the car, and call."

Yugi nodded as Solomon rose and bolted out of the room. Yugi helplessly watched as Yami put a palm to his forehead, the fingers curling against the bright hair, and the tears trickling unwillingly past his clenched eyes.

Helplessly, Yugi only eased himself over the bed, and gently clutched Yami to his side. Yami cringed at the touch, but surrendered to the embrace of his friend. Yugi felt his shudder of pain, and the flush of the fever. Finally, Yami spoke.

"Yugi, it hurts." Yami whispered. "It hurts so much."

Yugi held him up as Yami slumped against him, his breath being hissed out through his clenched teeth.

"I know, Yami, and I'm sorry." Yugi felt Yami's nod of acceptance as he helplessly waited for his grandfather to come back.

.


	15. Habitation

For Seto, breakfast had been a dismal affair, a hockey-puck of a biscuit, crayon-yellow eggs dished out with an ice cream scoop, complete with milk and a glower from the cook. Seto disdainfully took his plastic tray and eyed the small cafeteria for the most isolated place where he could sit in relative peace. He finally perched himself in the smallest corner, and maintained his distancing glare from the rest of his fellow inmates.

He hated it. Everything here was tinged with so much shame and loathing and futile rage that he had nobody to blame but himself for being here. His first night had been hell, too. After the admission paperwork, he was led away to a small room, pat down like a criminal. He endured the humiliation of having to take a drug test under the bored stare of a mental health aide. He was escorted to the beige and grey little room, with its metal framed bed, and sliver of a mattress. There was the constant hum of the electric bulbs that made his head throb from the unending glare. He was even more unhappy to see the other bed on the opposite wall. So, he had a roommate, as well. Seto hated sharing space with anybody else, especially now. He sighed, lay his suitcase across the unoccupied bed, and began unpacking his clothes and neatly laying them in the battered dresser. He just hoped that his roommate was a bit more bearable than the rest of this place. Frowning at the wall,, he didn't have much hope of it.

Seto had put the last of his clothing away, when the door was suddenly flung open. Seto pivoted sharply in surprise, eyes narrowing warily. He scowled uncertainly as the intruder exhaled minutely, and forced a polite smile as he stepped around the door, and closed it behind him. He was an oddly dressed character, wearing a fedora, with bright red hair swept back in a pony-tail. He squinted at Seto from behind wire-rimmed glasses for a long moment, before he finally spoke.

"So, I guess you are the unfortunate roommate that's been assigned? I'm to meet you." And Troy thrust out a hand so suddenly that Seto jerked in surprised. Seto eyed the outstretched hand suspiciously, but finally shook in an obligatory surrender. He was even more displeased to see that Troy was as tall as he was. Still, there was little point in being a jerk to the person he had to live with for the next month and a half. Seto did not smile, but answered quietly.

"My name is Seto. And accept my apologies in advance for not being pleased to be here." To Seto's surprise, the acidic comment was met with a chortle of brittle laughter, as Troy shook his head without mirth.

"If this was a pleasurable experience, nobody would be court-ordered to be here, now would they? Decidedly, their intentions of guiding us poor addicted souls to salvation are better than their success rate. This is my third attempt at sobriety."

Seto raised an eyebrow at that. His astonishment at such a blasé admission won over his disgust. "Do you mean to tell me that you've been to rehab three times for drinking, and you're still not sober?"

Troy uneasily took off his fedora and slid a strand of sorrel hair back under its brim. "This is your first time in treatment, isn't it?"

Seto nodded. "I'm here on orders of the court, not because I'm an alcoholic." He answered curtly.

Troy's green eyes narrowed, as he gave Seto a knowing, sad nod. "The first two times that I was admitted, I wasn't an alcoholic, either. I wasn't an alcoholic when I drank my way out of my scholarship, and out of grad school. I wasn't an alcoholic when I woke up covered in what I hope to God was my own vomit, either. And, I wasn't an alcoholic even when I was too intoxicated to remember what the hell or who the hell I did on all those benders."

Seto lurched backwards, feeling disjointed and sick. Troy shrugged after the silence, indifferently.

"I think you'll find yourself in good company,pal. This place is nearly overflowing with folks who are wrongfully accused of being alcoholic. I thought the same my first two stints. "

Seto tilted his head. "I'm not here because I'm some slobbering drunk. I'm here because I made an extremely stupid mistake, a mistake that I seem to be paying for more and more."

Troy smirked sadly at that. "If they put you in here for a first time offense, then somebody's probably paying an even bigger price than you for it."

Seto's indignant defiance crumbled, as he pursed his lips and turned away, shaking.

Troy noticed the flinch, as he sighed. "Please accept my apologies. They teach you to be very blunt and honest here, but not how to carry on a casual conversation, that's anything but. I wasn't trying to stir up your issues."

Seto curled a lip, as he crossed his arms for some distance. "If this is your third time here, then why in the hell do you think it's going to be different?"

Troy's eyes were shimmering as he looked up at Seto from his lounge on the bed. "I found out that I'm going to be a father. She said she wasn't taking me back until I could prove to her that she's more important than the booze, and I owe her and our baby that."

"I see." Seto nodded as his hand strayed instinctively to the locket with Mokuba's picture. "So you have a reason for sobriety now?"

Troy's smile faltered. "I don't want to lose them, and if I don't get this right, I will."

Seto uneasily answered, surprised at his lack of sarcasm in his reply. "Good luck with that."


	16. Effects

Yugi watched as Solomon hastily scribbled through paper after paper, as he kept glancing backwards at his two grandsons. They had arrived to the clogged emergency room. Solomon herded Yugi and Yami over to the uncomfortable plastic chairs, while he grumbled about filling out the paperwork. It was just one more source of frustration that he didn't need.

Yami had stoicly bore the pain without uttering a complaint, and Yugi kept his useless hovering vigil. Sighing, Solomon returned to the clipboard, and continued scribbling away.

It was a tedious experience. Yugi had not felt this helpless or useless since the night of Yami's wreck. Carefully, Yugi adjusted his position so Yami wouldn't have to lean so far over that irritating wilted against his side, huddled in the blanket and shivering.

Yami was miserable. He was feverish, and sweating, but could not find any means of getting warm. His thoughts were sluggish, and incoherent. The ache in his leg was a deep, relentless throbbing that seemed to radiate agony from the very bone itself. Yami could not find any position that reduced any of the pain. The inflamed skin had taken on a scarlet hue, and Yami fought the understandable urge to bawl.

Hearing Yami's wince, Yugi timidly addressed him."Yami? How are you doing?" He kept his voice soft in case Yami started to doze. Yami grunted out an answer, muffled and drowsy,"I'm not any worse, Yugi. Do you know how much longer it will be?"

Silence. Another long silence.

"It shouldn't be much longer, Yami. I'm sorry, I don't really know. I'm sorry." Yugi whispered fretfully.

Yami suppressed a groan, and only nodded in weary acceptance. What else could be done? Whining would only alarm his family more, and accomplish nothing.

"Do you want something to drink, or anything?" Yugi's question went unanswered as Yami curled deeper into the blanket.

"Yami? Are you alright?" Yugi gently shook him. Yami finally emerged from his stupor, his eyes narrowed and distant as he peered owlishly at Yugi.

"I'm sorry, Yugi…what did you want?" His voice was soft and labored, and Yugi could barely hide the shudder as he looked into those vacant eyes.

"Yami, stay with me, alright?" Yugi almost pleaded as Yami closed his eyes, the weary chuckle burbling with perverse amusement.

"How far do you think I would actually go with this leg, Yugi? How far do you think I would have gotten without you and Grandpa?" Yami lay a cold hand over Yugi's wrist, and clutched it in shaking fingers.

"Yugi, I'm going to be alright. I'm not nearly in as much pain as I was in the wreck, I'm in a hospital…it could be much, much worse."

Wryly, Yugi shook his head. "I never knew you to be an optimist, Yami."

Yami said nothing more. Solomon finally ambled over, and gruffly announced,"They're finally getting off of their keisters and doing , you're being admitted now."

Yami groaned at that. "Thank you, Grandpa."

A tech promptly came over with a smile, and a wheelchair. Yami, with help from Yugi and Solomon, slowly hobbled over on his good foot, lurched the two foot distance, and was gently eased into the waiting chair. The tech adjusted the foot pedal to accomodate him and gently whisked him down the sterile white hall, with Yugi and Solomon trailing behind. He was wheeled to an equally sterile room, with an open bed, and the IV pole. Yami again began the terrifying, unbalanced lurch to the bed.

He nearly snapped when the tech accidently jostled his limb when she was helping him lay down. Yami tensed in tears, inhaling sharp gasps of breath through his clenched teeth as the tech stammered out an apology. He forced himself to reassure them all that he was feeling better, when he was truly feeling worse. Solomon irritably groused about staff incompetence, while Yugi attempted to lessen the tension by turning on the wearily submitted to having his vitals taken, answering the various questions about his symptoms, as the tech jotted it down on a chart. She told them that a nurse would see them soon, and departed the room. Yami simply closed his eyes and leaned back on the stiff pillow. He had nearly dozed off to merciful oblivion when he heard his name being called.

A nurse was briskly eyeing his elevated foot, squinting at it as she shook her carefully read his chart, and clapped it shut.

"Mr. Moto, how long have you had these symptoms?"

Yami sighed, tiredly, but answered politely, "Since last night, you tell me what's wrong?"

She paused. "We won't know for certain until we do a biopsy, but it looks like you have a bone infection, Mr. Moto. You had a fairly substantial injury to your calf, and it was an open fracture....meaning the bone broke through the skin. That would certainly give bacteria a chance to settle into that wound, and cause these symptoms."

Solomon stiffened, and Yugi gave Yami a panicked glance. Yami grimly rose up on his elbow.

"Is this serious?"

She smiled, reassuringly. "It can be serious, if it's not caught and treated in time. Again, we won't know until we do a biopsy, but this is primarily non-fatal. With treatment, Mr. Moto, you should recover fairly quickly. I'm sorry to tell you this, but you'll need to be admitted, at least over night. We'll start you on a round of anti-biotics to start treating the infection now, and something for the pain. They'll be down here to escort you to your room in a few moments, Mr. Moto."

"Thank you." Yami answered back as she swirled out of the room. Solomon frowned as he looked at Yami with a raised eyebrow. Yami forced his voice to remain calm and confident as he hitched his good shoulder in a shrug. "A round of antibiotics and a night in the hospital is hardly anything compared to where I was, Grandpa.I'm already feeling better."

Solomon only stared down at him with a paternal grunt, and a protective arm around him. "I'm going to be alright, Grandpa, Yugi. The worse of this is surely over. Things have to get better, don't they?"

The question was quite uncertain, and Yami regretted voicing such a thought when he saw Yugi's eyes widen in disbelief, before he nodded."You're absolutely right, course things are getting better. Your other injuries are healing well." THe bright, forced cheer faltered as soon as it left Yugi's mouth. Yami smiled at him appreciatively for the attempt. They were interrupted by the arrival of a brisk cna with a wheel chair. Yugi eyed it dubiously, and turned to Yami. "Can you get into the wheel chair, or do you need a gurney?"


	17. Group Therapy is not successful

Seto endured his first morning group therapy session with his arms clamped to his sides, and a profound refusal to say more than he absolutely had to. And, even those answers were only pried away with the repeated prodding of the counselor. The "drunks and junkies"-as Seto internally labled the other residents in treatment were seated on the metal chairs in a close circle, facing each warily stared for a long moment, before Troy shuffled in. He was apparently popular with his fellow inmates, because he was greeted by a smattering of hellos, and handshakes. Troy doffed his fedora into a mocking bow, and rose to the chuckles and applause. When he saw Seto, he gave him a small, curt smile of understanding, and tilted his head to the chair next to him. Seto stared grimly, but forced himself to slide into the chair. He gave Troy a nod of gratitude. Maybe he wasn't completely loathed yet. The casual conversations and friendly banter of the small cluster suddenly halted. Seto inwardly cringed when he saw their open stares, their questioning glances to each other, their scrutiny. Outwardly, he was nothing more than nonchalant dismissal. He gave them all a long, icy stare as he folded his arms, and scowled. It was so much easier to hide behind the cold indifference.

Troy was clearly troubled and surprised as he watched the 's displeasure grew when the counselor finally arrived with her plump hands clutching a stack of papers, tucked into a notebook. She greeted them all brightly, as she abruptly shoved the stack of colored pages into Seto's hands. Seto raised an eyebrow as he took one and passed the rest to Troy. There was no sound by paper shuffling,and the counselor..Seto sighed inwardly. She was the condemning hag that had hassled him while he was signing his admittance papers.

Seto eyed the brochure, eyebrow rising at the contents. "Twelve Steps?" He groused as he continued scanning. His scowl only deepened in confusion. "What the hell is this?"He barked at the counselor. Troy jerked at the outburst and shot him a desperate warning look, and a shake of his head. Seto ignored it, as he glared at the counselor for an answer. She gave him an infuriatingly calm smile, as she levelly met his stare. "Mr. Kaiba, are you asking because you honestly want an explanation, or are you only airing your displeasure?"

There was a smattering of chuckles, as Seto pursed his lips."My displeasure is obvious without any need for me to air it. If you are a counselor, you should be able to decipher body language well enough to know that. What is this 12 step crap?"

He had gotten out of his seat, and he was towering over her by a good foot at drew a measured breath, and looked much more irritated than intimidated. "Since you are so eager to learn about the 12 steps, I think that it would be wonderful for you and the group, , if you shared what brought you into treatment first. We normally go around the room and introduce ourselves. We tell all the newcomers why we're here in every morning session."

Seto glared at her, and then turned back to the group, who were clearly waiting.

"My name is Seto Kaiba.I'm here due to the epic failure of the legal system that lacks the means to differentiate between one unfortunate episode, and somebody who's an actual alcoholic. I'm not a slobbering drunk, I'm not a junkie, and I sure as hell have no need to be here."

The counselor rose to her full height, and looked like a bulldog as she calmly marched over to Seto. "Are you finished, Mr. Kaiba, or should I pop some popcorn for the show?"

Seto flinched, as she waited,clearly unimpressed. Indeed, her eyes were fixed on him like a target. There was the uneasy brittle laughter burbling up from behind, as Seto suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. He heard Troy's voice at his right side.

"If you want to get out of here, sit down and shut up! You're not helping yourself at all!"

Troy hissed. The counselor smiled condensendingly at Troy. "I see that you've adopted yet another lost cause, . Maybe if you were so devoted to your own treatment, you wouldn't be here for the third time."

From behind, Seto heard Troy's measured breath, and felt the bones of his hand shudder with emotion.

"I didn't have a kid on the way, then,either." He answered softly. The counselor sighed, and gave him a wan smile. "Mr. Callahan, I sincerely hope you do succeed this time. I like all of you, well enough, but I hate when you come back for a visit."

Seto swallowed hard, as Troy jerked his head sharply towards the , he sat back down, as Troy gave him another glare, and handed him another brochure. Seto accepted it without another quibble.

The counselor read it out loud, and paused."I want you all to look around at each other, and note something, please. The only thing that any of you have in common is that alcohol brought you here. Some of you are here by choice, or because you've got no choices left to make. Some of you have become masters at deception, being high-functioning individuals who are able to control everything but the drinking. Some of you have managed to hide your sickness well enough that admitting you've got a drinking problem is impossible for your loved ones to accept, because they didn't even know. Some of you have lost nothing but the time and the expense of maintaining an addiction, and you were wise enough to come before it killed you. And, some of you have lost everything. Some of you have done incalculable damage to yourselves...and there are some of you here who know the guilt that comes from knowing that you've damaged somebody else beyond repair."

She looked at Seto when she said that, and he found for the first time, he could not meet their eyes.

* * *

Author's Note: I will address Yami in the next chapter, I promise.


	18. These Lovely Bones

Yami cringed at the high, shrill whine of the saw as the nurse carefully eased it over the cast. The machine severed through the plaster in a few moments, and the nurse halted to snip away the rest of it with the large scissors. Yami had been sternly warned to keep absolutely still, and he obeyed that command completely, except for the involuntary shudder. Intellectually, he knew that it was impossible for them to saw his limb off, but he could not stop the horrific thought. Solomon was still grousing in the corner, Yugi hovering as closely as he was permitted. Yami's strained nerves were literally reaching their breaking point when he attempted the faltering reassurances to both that he was alright. Truthfully, he felt like curling up into a sobbing ball and wailing. Even that bit of comfort was denied. He simply couldn't maneuver himself into that position, and his busted, unhealed calf was now resting high on the stiff cushion. He heard Yugi's disbelieving gasp, and Yami cracked open his tired eyes to see how much progress his injury had made in healing. The whole limb was mottled, the scarlet tinge of infection a sickening contrast to the nearly indigo bruising. There were scars from where the doctors had surgically realigned the bone, and the whole leg was wilted and thin from disuse.

Yami shut his eyes, and let his head thud back into the pillow. The nurse chirped encouragement as she very, very gently eased the needle into his flesh, and injected the numbing agent through the skin. Yugi eyed it worriedly, but Yami was silent. The charge nurse who had him admitted had been merciful enough to give him enough pain medication to dull the agony into a bearable ache. The local anesthesia was already numbing the skin, and Yami grit his teeth against the disconnecting sensation. The nurse gently swabbed his shin with the disinfectant, as Yugi gripped Yami's hand, and squeezed it hard. Yami winced, but after seeing the wan fear on his face, allowed the tense grip without protest.

Pausing to gage Yami's reaction, the nurse quietly announced, "Mr. Moto, if you are ready, I'll be getting the biopsy finished."

Yami nodded, as he leaned back and shut his eyes in the horrible waiting. There was a dull sting, Yugi's breath hissed out between clenched teeth, the soft paternal groan from Solomon. Yami did not watch the needle glide through his flesh to the bone, he did not open his eyes when the syringe was withdrawn a few seconds later. The sample was hastily taken down to the lab for to see if the bone was infected. He only exhaled the breath he had been holding, and waited. The nurse very, very carefully wiped down the limb, checked for sensation. With a sigh, Yami submitted to the tedious process of recasting his leg. Yami turned to the clock, and scowled to see how many hours had passed. Yugi and Solomon were still standing in their protective little huddle, stifling yawns, looking exhausted.

Rising on his elbow, Yami quietly announced, "You should both go home and get some rest." Yugi was already firing up a protest, even as he stuffed back a yawn.

"Yami, I don't want to leave you here alone, it's-"

"Yugi." Yami halted the protests with a gentle, stern tone, bordering on an order. "You are exhausted, I am exhausted, and I'll be nodding off shortly. I won't be able to sleep with you both watching me, and there's nothing more to be done. Go home, please, and get some rest. Come back in the morning, and bring me some edible breakfast, if you want, but please, go home."

It took another round of arguments, but Yami finally convinced them to leave him be. Yugi surrendered to the edict with a bowed head, and Solomon groused out a promise to return early in the morning with Yami's favorite breakfast-pancakes.

Yami did not allow himself to lay back down until both the Motos had finally completed their tearful departure. Yami was wheeled to a room, carefully settled into the institutional bed, and lingered there, in the hazy, exhausted torpor. Finally, just as Yami was debating the merits or requesting a sedative, he fell asleep.

Seto twisted fretfully in the crisp sheets. The bed was too short, the mattress as stiff as cardboard, and Troy's snoring was earth-shattering in its volume. Seto had survived the first day of his incarceration without any gaping mishaps, but behind his narrowed eyes, and sarcasm, he was scared of being here. Group therapy had progressed only because he willingly sat down, shut up, and submitted to their blather. He loathed the constant brain-picking of the well-intentioned and invasive counselors. He didn't know how to acknowledge his issues; he hated admitting he had them! He soon realized in this strange rehab culture that the same character traits that made him so feared and admired in the real world," were going to be his downfall in this cage. Here, independence and sneering at weakness in others was not regarded as pointing out the inherit flaws of the system. He was met with a round of scowls, and the irritating blather of the counselor. The rest of the group shifted uneasily as the power struggle continued, right up until Troy's intervention. Seto had managed to keep his mouth shut, but it was taxing to do so.

Things came to a brutal standoff during his individual therapy session. Seto had received the unwelcome news that he was scheduled for his during lunch, and he was instructed to bring his food tray with him. Irritably, he loaded his sandwich onto the plastic, and followed the timid tech out of the cafeteria.

Before he could decide to knock or simply enter, the office door opened, and Corrine met his eyes with a guarded, forced smile. Seto's eyes bulged as he recognized her as the counselor who had admitted him.

"….please take a seat."

He set the tray down on the edge of the desk, eying her warily. "What exactly transpires in an individual session?" He managed to ask the question with relatively little venom, as she tilted her head with that same tolerant smile.

"I take it you've never had counseling before, Mr. Kaiba?"

Seto glared at that. "I've never had any mental health issues that required it. I still don't."

Corrine narrowed her eyes, but nodded, amicably as she sized him up. "You're not here because of a mental health issue, Mr. Kaiba."

He sighed, bitterly. "I know. I'm here because I drank too much and caused a wreck. I'm here because I did something phenonominally stupid, and put somebody in the hospital. I'm here because I broke the law. However-"his eyes slid up to hers as he hoisted the sandwich and took a curt bite, "I'm not here because I'm crazy, or stupid. Is that clear?"


	19. Friction

It had been nearly a week of hell. Seto hadn't accumulated enough points for Mokuba to visit, and he was only allowed sporadic phone calls, lasting a few minutes every other day. Not that it mattered. Seto loathed the idea of Mokuba being carted in this place of junkies and addiction, to see his brother trapped like an animal. The first phone call home had been awful. Roland had answered almost timidly, as Seto scowled on the other end of the line and demanded to know what the hell was wrong now.

Roland sighed, regretfully, before he answered, "Mr. Kaiba, I think you should know that Yami Moto was hospitalized."

Seto's gut clenched, as did his fingers coiled over the receiver. "And?"

Another sigh. "Sir, apparently Mr. Moto has an infection of some sort. He was admitted very early yesterday morning."

Seto's lip twisted as he gripped the phone. "Do you know if this new development is somehow connected to his injuries from the wreck I caused?"

Rolland was silent for a moment, before he answered, "I don't know, sir. If it is not related, do you want me to tell the hospital to stop payment on his medical bills?"

Seto snapped, "Absolutely not! I've already put him through enough hell as it , please find out what you can about Moto's condition, and let me know as soon as possible."

Rolland answered, rather subdued, "If I hear anything, I will certainly let you know. Would you like to speak to Mokuba, sir?"

"You know I would, Roland. Put him on."

"Of course, sir."

Roland did an admirable job of keeping Mokuba both occupied, and fairly sheltered from all the stream of gossip of Seto's stint in rehab. Mokuba was still young enough to be mercifully ignorant of the true nature of Seto's blunder. Seto had cradled the phone in his hand, like a gift, when he heard Mokuba's bright, timid voice, "Big brother?"

Seto's voice was falsely light as he answered, "Yes, Mokuba, it's me. Is everything alright?"

There was a long silence on Mokuba's end, before he finally answered, with a bit of a worried pout, "Seto, when will you be home again? I don't like it here without you."

Seto swallowed hard, as he answered, "I'll be home as soon as I can, Mokuba. You know that."

Mokuba sighed, and answered, "I know,Seto. But I miss you. It's not the same without you here. Why can't you come home?"

Seto's reply was cut short by the impatient tech. glaring up at him from the other side of the desk. He tapped his wrist to show that Seto's allotted phone time had expired. Seto rolled his eyes, cupped the receiver end, and hissed out, "I'll be off in one minute, damn it. Let me at least say good-bye to my little brother."

The tech propped himself up his elbows to glower at him. "Your phone call time is up, and I've got five other people needing to use it. Hang it up,please."

Seto irritably waved him away like he would a fly, and hastily returned to his phone call. "Mokuba, I'm sorry, but I have to go. I love you, and I'll talk to you soon."

"But-" Mokuba's objection was cut off when the tech simply disconnected the phone call. Seto's eyes narrowed, puzzled at the abrupt ending to the call, and then he saw the tech giving him a languid smile. "I thought I told you your phone time was over with, Mr. Kaiba. Maybe you're used to special treatment out there, but you're not any different from any other client in here."

Rage trickled ice through Seto's veins, made his fingers curl into fists, made him lurch back. He was about to punch that fat face when the tech bellowed out a demand for assistance, and Seto was suddenly surrounded by at least five. Seto was seething as he turned in a circle and saw that he was now trapped.

"Mr. Kaiba, I think it best that you come with us until you calm down, please."

The words were spoken by a mousy-faced young woman, who stared up at him as she glanced at her fellow watch dogs for assistance.

Seto only sneered, "And where do you plan on taking me? A cocktail party?"

The tech lifted her chin. "Mr. Kaiba, will you come voluntarily, or will we have to escort you?"

Seto crossed his arms, and icily answered, "If any of you lay a hand on me, you won't have a hand left. Where the hell are you taking me?"

"Mr. Kaiba, you nearly punched a staff member, and now you're refusing to comply with directs?"

Seto snarled, "I'm not complying with anything until you tell me what the hell gave you the right to disconnect my phone call from my brother!"

That was the eruption to the storm pending in his gut. The outburst seemed to trigger the avalanche as the techs suddenly swarmed him. Seto let out an indignant grunt as they somehow swept him downward, curled his arms against his sides, and shoved his knees to buckling.

The humiliating frog-march through the facility was punctuated with his bellowing protests and empty threats as they escorted him to his unknown destination.

During the time of his restraint, Seto had been held immobile, but aside from the injury to his pride, they had not even held him hard enough to bruise.

They stopped abruptly, and Seto eyed the rather large metal door with the portal window with trepidation. The techs were silent as they simply maneuvered him through the doorway, released him, and bustled out.

Seto flinched at the loud clang of the door, and scowled to hear it being locked. He saw the tech's face monitoring through the small window. Seto snarled out, "What the hell is this?!"

She answered, "This is the quiet room-to help you calm down. We'll be letting you out in a little bit if you're a bit more in control of yourself."

Seto rolled his eyes heavenward, lurched away from the door, as he fought the urge to give him the finger. Sighing, he crossed his arms, lounged up against the concrete wall, and gave the door and the face gawking at him his darkest scowl.

Seto stared at the concrete walls, and shivered inwardly. They were like the inside of a tomb, or a prison cell. And Seto grappled anew with the horrible realization that there were indeed forces that could subdue him, and issues that could compel his obedience.

How in the hell had it come to this?


	20. Reverberation

The concrete walls held no distraction, and Seto was tired of staring at them. He stared at the short width of his holding cell. The bare walls were painted dull, institutional beige, with several gouges where the paint had been scraped away by desperate fingers. Aside from the assigned tech looking through the little glass window to observe him, there was absolutely nothing to do but stand there and wait to be let out. Seto sighed, folded his arms against his chest, and leaned rigidly against the furthest corner. He scowled and shifted for a bit more comfort, though he refused to sit,or beg to be let out. Worst of all, there was absolutely nothing to keep his thoughts away from the horrific news that Yami was languishing in the hospital, yet again.

Seto miserably put a hand to his face, and hastily removed it before anybody could see the gesture. Maybe Yami had caught something, had a bad reaction to a drug, attempted suicide. Any of those outcomes were more favorable than the horrific possibility that Yami was suffering even more of the brunt of Seto's one stupid act. Guilt, remorse, they were both alien emotions that Seth had rarely troubled himself to experience, let alone acknowledge. And now, stripped bare of every defenses, incarcerated with crazy people, and saddled with the glaring fact that he had nearly killed somebody, Seto folded his arms. His court appointed treatment was failing, miserably. He was astute enough to realize that as much as he hated to admit to it, he had been shown a remarkable bit of mercy, both from the court, and from Yami.

Yami….Seto's lip twisted, ruefully. It would have been so much easier to bear if Yami had retaliated, wounded him, sought vengeance, or did *something* to deserve some of this.

Throughout the whole ordeal, Seto wished that he could find some reason to hate Yami, if only to find some target for all this self-loathing, and anguish. Seto tried to sooth his tortured thoughts with the knowledge that Yami was at least getting his bills paid, and whatever needed to be done to facilitate his recovery, would be covered.

That pitiful compensation rang hollow, even to Seto's normally indifferent conscience. It was the same tortured waiting, brought forth, wretchedly slow, and so blindingly fast. He didn't know if Yami was suffering, or even if he lived. Seto shuddered at the horrific thought of Yami actually dying, and felt the sudden burn of tears against his clenched eyelids.

His increasingly dark thoughts were interrupted by the sudden knock on the door of the chamber. Startled, he rose to peer through the small window, and grimaced when he saw the mousy little tech staring up at him.

"Mr. Kaiba? Are you ready to come out?"

Seto bit back the retort as he simply stepped away from the door, and nodded.

"You'll be escorted back to your room in a few moments. Any more acting out behavior will result in you staying in the quiet room, alright, Mr. Kaiba?"

Seto sighed and curled a lip. "I understand." He groused irritably and waited to be liberated from the tomb. She scurried off and came back with the same three hulking techs that had frog-marched Seto into the room to begin with.

Seto was docile as he stepped away at their orders. He said nothing when they latched themselves onto his arms, and escorted him through the hall. He was quiet as they finally released him back to the room. Seto uneasily crossed his arms, and rigidly sank into one of the plastic chairs that was off in a corner, and the closest thing he had to privacy.

He scowled when he realized he had no phone privileges, and his heart ached over not speaking to Mokuba, and he was pissed at himself again for wrecking the one thing that would make him feel better.

"Feeling better?"

Seto flinched in surprise at the question, and craned his neck with raised eyebrows. Troy was peering down at him over his glasses, warily.

Uneasily, Seto hitched his shoulders, and attempted a civil answer. "I'd feel a hell of a lot better if I were at home, or working, instead of being locked up. I didn't appreciate being imprisoned in that concrete room."

Troy shrugged at that. "No offense to you, but you're hardly doing yourself any favors by pissing off the staff, or disrupting the group therapy."

Seto's eyes narrowed at that. Troy sighed, wearily. "Trust me on this. I've been here enough times to tell you, that it's not always about sick becoming well, or broken becoming healed. Sometimes, it's just about rules being followed, and orders being obeyed. You seriously have nothing left out there that's worth returning to?"

Seto bit back the sarcastic retort, as Troy patiently waited for an answer, with those bright, scrutinizing eyes.

Troy sighed after the long silence with a resigned shake of his head. "Do you have any idea how much that first drink wound up costing me?"

Seto scowled. "Apparently, a lot of time invested in failed attempts at rehabilitation, a relationship that's close to collapse, and your unborn child possibly being fatherless unless you get it right."

Troy smirked, bitterly. "That is a very neat summary of events."

Seto unfolded his arms, as he carefully lowered himself into the steel chair. "If' it's wrecked your life, why did you keep doing it?"

The question was curious, as Troy peered at him over his shoulder.

"You have to understand something, if you're ever going to get through this. It's not the amount of drinking, how long, or even what happens during the latest binge. It's the denial. I drank myself out of a good job, grad school, and now, the love of my life is carrying my child and debating if I have the right to stay on as a father. You really think that I ever made the connection between the wreck my life was becoming and the amount of booze I was consuming? Those two were completely separate issues…issues that I simply evaded, ironically enough, with more alcohol. You see, I have to make it work this time….I've got so much more to lose, now. You really want the truth? It was seeing how much it was costing her to keep me in her life. She deserves so much better than a drunk, and I owe it to her to at least try and salvage something of worth out of all of this. Even if you're court-appointed, you did something to wind up here. I'm not judging you, Seto, I have no ground to stand on with that aspect. But, denial kills, and unfortunately, you may not be the only paying the price for it."

Yami had masterfully held his composure throughout the painful ordeal. He had not shed any tears, dissolved into hysterics, and endured the physical side effects and the infuriating dependence with a stoic, impassive resolve for the benefit of Yugi and Grandpa. He had gotten the unwelcome, but hardly surprising news that his fractured calf was afflicted with a bone infection. He had been dismayed to see the cloudy white haze surrounding the broken line of his bone on the x-ray, and listened as the doctor spoke glowingly of the surgical procedure to simply "clean out the infected bone," and "follow up with a round of anti-biotics, you should be good as new."

Yami raised a dubious eyebrow at that when he heard Yugi's gasp, and Grandpa's muttering of paternal objections.

"May I ask why it cannot be treated with antibiotics first, before we resort to the surgery?"

The doctor smiled at him kindly. "Mr. Moto, I understand completely how unpleasant the news is about more needing to be done with your leg. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you that. The thing is, Mr. Moto, it's not a typical wound, where we can just bandage and let it heal on its own. Since the infection is actually lodged in your bone, we can't get at it any other way. And if it's not treated, it could become chronic."

Yugi choked at that. "Chronic? You mean he could endure this even longer?"

The doctor nodded, sadly. "What makes bone infections especially difficult to treat is that they're so deeply infested into the tissue. That's what made Mr. Moto so ill, so very fast. Without cleaning it out, it will most likely continue to eat away at the healthy bone."

Yami bit back the cry that nearly erupted, and mastered the impulse to howl in rage and pain at the whole situation. Yugi was already laying those cloying protective arms over his bent back, as Yami fought the urge to shove away the unwelcome gesture. Grandpa had swept him up, too, and Yami suddenly felt choked and overwhelmed at the whole thing.

"I need to be alone." The quiet announcement was met with dismay, as Yugi drew back in surprise, his mouth already falling open to object. Grandpa watched him with wary eyes, clearly at a loss. Yami drew a shaking breath, and plunged onward while he still had control.

"Doctor, I understand the urgency of the procedure….but does it have to be addressed right now?"

The doctor's face fell in confusion, as Yugi twisted around to object again. Yami shut his eyes, drew a long, steadying breath, and leveled his unwavering stare to Yugi.

"If it's not a matter of life or death, I need a few hours alone. "

The doctor was the first to regain her voice. She was strangely subdued as she answered, "This does need attending to, Mr. Moto, but, you can certainly have a few hours to think it over. This is an urgent matter, and I want to make sure you understand that."

Yami gave her a curt, polite nod, as he slowly slid his arms across his chest. It was an awkward gesture now, with the broken wrist in the sling. Sighing, he lay his arms back on the bed.

Yugi was agog, helplessly glancing from his grandfather to Yami, as Grandpa warily eyed Yami. "I don't think that this is the best time for you to suddenly be alone, Yami. I don't like this one bit."

Yami did nothing but allow the beseeching, unspoken plea to emerge, as Grandpa finally sighed and rolled his eyes, heavenward. Grousing in irritation, he propelled the relunctant Yugi from the hospital bed rails, and steered him towards the door. Lingering, he turned, and spoke, "We'll be back in an hour, Yami."

Yami said nothing, only gripped his hand with his own good one. "Thank you." He whispered, as Grandpa nodded and left him alone.

Yami waited until the room was empty, until they shut the door, until there was nothing but unobtrusive silence and nobody left to see.

Yami put a shaking hand to his mouth, stared at his fractured body, and started to weep. He didn't try to hold back the sobs that shook him to his very core, or chastise himself over the hitching heaves. The pain behind his eyes had grown from a dull ache to agony.

He was broken, physically, and mentally. He hadn't died in the wreck, but all the aftermath was almost enough to make him wish that he had. He had never felt more helpless in his life, confined to bed, unable to even hobble to the bathroom without assistance, and now, he faced the possibility of losing so much more.

He had forced himself to maintain that stone-faced indifference for Yugi and Grandpa. He had pretended to be detached and unaffected by the whole ordeal, but the wounds, physical, and emotional, were festering, not healing.

His inflamed and unmovable leg was proof of that. And even if the doctors could work their medical miracles and restore his leg to where he could walk upright again, there was no answer to how he was supposed to live with knowing that he almost died. The wreck had broken something that ran deeper than bone, altered something far more complex than physical. The trauma of the event had left him scarred and changed.

He had already endured so much, but there seemed to be no end in sight, and no real way of knowing when or even if healing of any sort was possible. And added to the pain, was the guilt. He loathed being helpless, he could not stand the new dependency being foisted upon him. He fought the impulse to be bitter, to inflict damage to his care givers, to love them and not make them targets. But, there was only so much of the cloying, binding protection he could take, and only so much endurance he had for being helpless.


	21. Decisions

Seto eyed his roommate with a warily raised eyebrow, but he halted his sarcasm long enough to listen to him. He did not flinch at Troy's prophetic words of "somebody else paying the price." The truth was viciously clear about that. Seto grimaced at the sudden, cruel clarity that he had drawn that conclusion several times, already, and had done nothing with the painful truth. Troy narrowed his eyes, and then sighed, with a resigned shake of his head.

"Please accept my apologies for the lecture. Eventually, you'll figure it out, or stay incarcerated or worse until you do."

Troy looked vaguely sad and disgusted as he turned to his institutional bed and made a distracting attempt to put some order to his side of the room. Behind him, he heard Seto's uneasy movements as he slid into one of the chairs on his side.

"I nearly killed Yami Moto when I wrecked my car. He almost died, and there's still a possibility that he won't make it. And even if he does recover, there's no way in hell he can go back to a normal life. I don't even know if he'll be able to walk. "Seto recited grimly, as his lip twisted in his teeth and he folded his arms. Troy's eyebrows shot upward as Seto wearily scrubbed his face, and left his palm on his forehead for a long moment.

"Do you still feel so terrible about what you've done, now?"

There was only silence as Troy finally shook his head, and answered, softly, "No. I don't. But I *am* sorry for Yami Moto. From what little media coverage I've seen of his games, he seems to be a decent person."

Seto scowled at that. "Decent or not, he didn't deserve what happened to him. What I did to him."

Troy hastily raised a placating palm. "Look, I'm in no way saying that he did. I'm not even saying that you're not responsible for what you did to him. You are. The thing is, you can't do anything to change it now, or else you would have, right?"

Seto nodded with a puzzled frown. "Of course I would! Wouldn't you?"

Troy gave him a sad smile. "I think we all would, but we can't. That's why it's perfectly futile to lament your regrets, or continue punishing yourself for your mistakes. You made them, you can't take them back, you can only do what you can now to make this right, and move on. When you figure out how, let me know."

Seto sat back. "When you get out of this nuthouse, what do you plan on doing?"

Troy hitched a shoulder, and sighed with resignation. "I hope to get married and be a good father. That's all, really. You?"

Seto answered quietly, "I'll do whatever is necessary to never come back here."

Troy snorted at that. "If you ever hope to get out of here, you need to start working the program. That little stunt you pulled got you a few hours in the concrete room. If you can't even do group therapy without a hissy fit, what credence do you have in convincing anybody you can be a functioning adult without more inpatient treatment?"

Seto snarled back, "I _was_ a functioning adult before this, Troy. It was one mistake, not the life-time pattern that you seem to be enslaved to."

Troy coldly answered. "No offense, but for my supposed life-time pattern of drinking, I've yet to succeed in nearly killing somebody. Do you really expect anybody here to believe you when you claim that you're not an alcoholic? That you've always been rationally sober, except for one night where you decide to cast aside all restraint and drive drunk? You're _Seto _Kaiba_. _ If you weren't some sort of closet alcoholic, then what the hell are you doing here?"

They were facing each other now, the volume of the heated exchange quickly rousing unwanted attention. Seto shuddered inwardly at the loud bang of the door being flung open, and colliding into the wall. Troy shut his eyes and shook his head when the male techs came in, and halted, eyeing both suspiciously. There was only silence as Seto suddenly noticed his and Troy's combat position.

Raising his searing eyes to Troy, Seto backed away to his side of the room, and gracefully sat back in his chair. Turning to the techs, he forced the sincerity to dribble through his words.

"I apologize for causing a disturbance. My roommate and I were having a debate that got more heated then the situation called for. It was my fault, and it will not happen again."

The techs exchanged dubious glances, as Troy's jaw fell open in surprise. One of them turned to Troy, who hastily worked his face into a masterfully sincere expression. "Is that the story, Troy? You alright?"

Troy looked at Seto, and nodded. "Yes, sir. I'm fine, thank you."

Seto did not return the glower they gave him, though it took all of his self-restraint. He was used to exchanging snipe per snipe, not apologizing and groveling like this.

Troy watched as the techs left the room, and only allowed himself to fall into a relaxed slump after they were gone. He turned to Seto, in surprise, as Seto only sat back, peeved.

"What? You want to go visit the concrete room?"

Troy gave him a troubled look, shook his head, and said no more.

Yugi and Solomon were huddled together and helpless as they sat in the small hospital café. They were hunched over the small round table, their drinks remaining untouched. Yugi uneasily fidgeted, and kept eying the clock to see when Yami's requested hour was over so he could go back to the room. Solomon flicked a glance at the clock, sighed, and gently pat Yugi's wrist.

"I know it's difficult, Yugi, but it's best to just let Yami be for a bit."

Yugi frowned uneasily at his grandfather. "I just don't understand, Grandpa. I want to be there for him to help him through this, but I don't know how."

Solomon gave Yugi a sad smile, as he sat back. "I am sure that Yami knows that you are there for him, Yugi. Try to understand things from _his _point of view for a moment. He's been through quite an ordeal that's left him suddenly dependent and a lot of pain. I'm sure that's a very difficult thing for him to accept. Yami's doing the best he can, Yugi. So are you."

Solomon smiled warmly at his grandson. "I'm very proud of you, Yugi. I know that this hasn't been easy on you, either."

Yugi forced an obligated smile in answer, before it wilted on his lips. "Grandpa?" His eyes slid to Solomon's as he took a distancing sip.

"Do you really think that Yami's going to be alright?"

Solomon's lip twisted, before he finally answered, reluctantly. "I know that Yami has a very long road ahead of him."

There was a pause before Solomon set his glass down. "But, I also know that Yami is a very tough young man who has already overcome far too much to simply give up now. Speaking of which-" Solomon glanced at the clock, "It's time we head back to Yami's room."

Yugi tossed the rest of his drink into the trash can, and shot to his feet. At his grandfather's warning look, Yugi forced himself to slow his pace from the mad bolt to the slow walking. The last thing that Yami needed was anybody glomping on him.

Solomon gave him a small nod of understanding, and together, the Motos made their way back to the hospital room.

Yami must have been watching the clock, because he was sitting up on the bed, and waiting for them, his face serene and unrevealing. Yugi quirked an eyebrow, questioningly, and scowled outright when he saw the shimmer of tears in Yami's eyes. Yami gave him a small smile of reassurance, and a shake of his head.

"I'm much better, Yugi." Yami answered the unasked question with a leveling stare.

"Will you be having the surgery, Yami?" Solomon's question was met with surprise as Yami grimly nodded.


	22. The Waiting Room

It was the same, surreal setting, of the long line of fluorescent lights, the rolling of the gurney beneath him, his body bare except for the gown and the blankets they gently draped over him. The IV pole, with its tubing securely taped to his arm followed him as they wheeled him into the operating room. There was no frenzied dash, this time, no panic of trying to shove life back into his broken mortal shell. No, there was only the cold detachment, the sterile hallway, the white drenched faced that hovered over him, and the sedative that was already lulling him into oblivion.

Torpor crawled over everything, fracturing his sense of time into odd increments. Lucidity was ebbing fast with the drip of the chemical now gently flooding his veins. There was no vicious haste now, no tortured jabbing and crying out, as it was the first time, when they were far more concerned about saving his life and salvaging his limb than they were about the blinding pain.

Yami felt himself being eased into the womb like warmth, the false stasis of peace as he heard a muffled voice bark an order about moving him. He was lifted and lowered, his now bare leg swathed with the sterile benetine. His breathing slowed, his eyelids suddenly felt like an oppressive weight to keep open. He heard the vague edge of a voice, encouraging him to close his eyes, a gloved caress against his forehead. He felt the mask being lowered and carefully encircling his nose and mouth, the eerie sound of his breath slowly exhaled through the thing draped over his face. Yami felt only the few second slide into oblivion, and he knew no more.

_Meanwhile…._

The term "waiting room" proved to be tortuously accurate. Yugi perched rigidly on the uncomfortable plastic chair, by the tired pile of outdated magazine, sighing. Solomon's eyes rose from behind his absent study of his coffee, concerned.

"He will be alright, Yugi. This is a very routine operation." The attempt at paternal soothing was only met by a deepening scowl, held back by the sliver of tolerance. Yugi could not help but be irritated by Solomon's lack of frigid terror over the whole thing. Instinctively, he knew that the old man had endured just as much suffering as he over Yami. Solomon frowned in worry as he saw Yugi slide his arms over his chest, rock back into the chair, and slump into a sullen, weary slouch. There was only another huff, and then a forced, flat, "I'm sorry, Grandpa….it's just-"

Solomon gave him a tired smile of understanding, and gently pat Yugi's shoulder. "I know what it is, Yugi. And _this _will get better."

Yugi forced his lips to twist upward in the bright, and false smile of reassurance. He let it fall from his face after his grandfather was satisfied that some of Yugi's anxiety had been soothed away. The characteristic cheer was largely manufactured, spewing forth on command, readied to mask any emotion as real, and always there to deflect how deeply troubled he truly felt.

The night of the wreck had been nothing less than hell, though this tortured bit of aftermath was only a bit eased by the experience. Yugi palmed his forehead, tried to squeeze away the ache and the tears.

He would never forget Yami's wilted, warped face, swollen and disfigured from being hurled through the windshield. He would not forget that mangled hand, with the bloated fingers, curled up like claws against the bandages and the brace. He couldn't forget that horrific moment when he halted at the edge of the bed, fighting the wail and the hysterics, as he stared down at his best friend, and wondered if he was dead. He couldn't forget the car, the metal crumpled like paper after the automobile cartwheeled off the highway and landed face down in the ditch.

It was at his own insistence that he lurched over to the brutalized driver's seat, and saw for himself the fragmented glass, the bits of blood, the seatbelt neatly severed from where they had to cut Yami free from the car. It was a mistake that nearly resulted in Yugi vomiting on what remained of the seat.

He had hoped that seeing the wreckage would at least draw him to a level of acceptable closure. That all of this trauma that suddenly burbled up could be neatly laid to rest, and he could at least maintain his valiant attempts to pretend that it didn't bother him. His issues, when compared to the sickening possibility that Yami could have died, seemed so trivial now. He felt searing, alien hatred for Kaiba, who was now comfortably residing in a six week treatment program, while Yami was languishing and suffering with all the aftermath.

Lip curling, fingers clinching against his palms, Yugi remembered the agonized moment in court when the verdict had been read, and the sentence handed down. Kaiba had been escorted in, flanked by his team of defense lawyers, his head bowed, and his spine hunched as if he were carrying a heavy weight. Kaiba had the grace enough to at least bow his head, and cup his forehead for most of the proceedings. If there was one thing that pissed Yugi off, and made him want to snarl, it was the contrast of Kaiba, and Yami.

Kaiba glided in, his back rigid, his stride long and quick, unwavering, his face a well-practiced expression of detachment. He elegantly lowered himself into the chair, calmly nodded to his lawyers, and answered the judge with a strange, subdued tone that almost resembled a sob at times.

Yami…Yugi's gut clenched in renewed rage at the situation.

Yami, who had endured so much without a whimper of protest, who had withstood and held back and choked down everything he could have endured, was in tears.

It had been in the interlude of court cases, where the Motos were huddled together in the small room awaiting for the bailiff to announce them. Yami had insisted on hauling himself around with the crutches rather than the wheel chair. The concern of the Motos was overridden by Yami's need to control something out of all of this. Yugi couldn't quite grasp at the time how violated Yami's sudden loss of independence truly was until then. Seeing Yami's undignified, lurching hop was horrific to watch. Hearing the grunt of pain, the flicker of a wince, or worse, Yami turning pale and hunching over his crutch in terror of falling, was hell.

It was all Yugi could do to not take one of those crutches and pummel Kaiba until he had the same broken bones and the aftermath to deal with. Yugi sighed, wearily. Even if such a thing was possible, it would never be enough. It was so unfair to see Kaiba free to walk, and sit as he wanted, while Yami was forced to calculate which movement would cause the least amount of pain. It was the same tedious process, for each step, a long scrutiny of distance, timidly balancing half of his body on the crutch, and then wobbling as he tottered forward carefully.

Yugi scowled as he glared at the clock. The surgery would be over soon. All he could do was sit and wait.


	23. A Drunken Mess

Seto eyed the rest of the group therapy participants warily. His irritation grew in proportion to his discomfort and their scrutiny. The small plastic chair he was perched upon was rigid behind his back, and he felt awkward as he shifted again. It was one of the few things disadvantages of being so tall. He felt both very trapped, and very foolish as the counselor pointedly stared at him, along with the rest. It took all of his self-restraint not to squirm or look away. It was his turn for what he had now come to label as an evisceration session. He was private, embarrassed as hell about what he had done, and saw no point in rehashing the same humiliation again.

"Mr. Kaiba, the rest of the group has already shared the first time they became intoxicated. Are you sure you have nothing to add?" There was the hint of exasperated warning as the counselor prompted and narrowed her eyes. Seto recoiled inwardly, as he grit his teeth and hissed out the breath and the unspoken swear word he had been holding in. He hated the tangible waiting for his expected spewing of guts, the benign evisceration that scared him so much more than the threat of the concrete room again.

Troy jerked his head towards the quiet room and raised his eyebrows in warning, as Seto slid his hands to his knees, and left them in their clenched position. Eyes narrowing, with another sigh, his answer came out as a soft snarl.

"Alright." It was abrupt and unexpected as a whiplash, and those nearest him nearly recoiled in shock as if they had been hit. Seto eyed them with open disgust as he shook his head with a silent sneer.

Even the counselor's eyes widened as Seto thought of Mokuba, and his longing for home. The ache in his gut forced him to continue, as he lay a hand over the locket that held his baby brother's picture. True, it was a small, metal thing, cool and reassuring against his palm. But, it was the needed talisman, the bitter reminder and the motivation that finally gave Seto the strength to continue his increasingly stupid idea of talking at all.

There was the long, alien pause as Seto uneasily surveyed the ring of witnesses around him. He swallowed, and took a moment to sanitize the sordid tale to a level he found safe enough to divulge.

Author's Note-Italics is the flashback, regular typing is the present time.

_It had only been one small mistake, a small sip from the precious bottle, a bright moment of defiance in the face of so much cruel and rigid expectation. The alcohol, in its ornate flask, glittered like a jewel as Seto carefully opened the liquor cabinet doors, the smirk of retaliation wickedly smug. He slid his shaking hands over the cold glass, and flinched at how heavy the bottle was from his precarious height on the back of the chair. It wobbled dangerously beneath him, and he braced himself against the wood to keep from falling. The chair lurched, but halted as Seto took two shaking breaths and slowly, carefully eased himself to the floor. The pristine tile gleamed coldly beneath his bare feet as Seto shivered and waited for any sound of oncoming footsteps. The kitchen was as hollow as a tomb, the housekeeping staff were tucked away in their quarters, and all was still, and empty._

_Seto smirked again, as he carefully twisted off the glass topper and gently set it on the table. Eyes narrowing, he looked around the empty room like a hunted animal. His back already ached from the palm-sized bruise that throbbed when he moved wrong. Gozoburo had hit him over the eyeroll he couldn't conceal in time. Seto shuttered at the memory, that heavy hand falling like a cannonball against his spine, the hiss of his name as if it were a disgusting thing that Gozaburo had to spit out, he hated it so much. Thank God Mokuba had been on the other side of the house, blissfully unaware and engrossed in his cartoons. Seto scowled. He was only ten, his brother was still a baby, and they were both helpless. His only plan was to spit in the bottle, and put it back. It was a stupid, stupid prank, appropriate for a ten year old, a hidden bit of damage inflicted that he could savor when Gozoboro would settle down for his nightly drink. _

_As he finally worked up enough saliva to heave forth into the bottle, as he was about to put it back and just leave, the very air fractured with the bellow of his name. Gozoboro's voice rippled through the kitchen like a thunder crack, and fell with the echo. Seto flinched, and started tremoring. _

_The enormous shadow fell, swallowing the last bit of light of the lamp in the other room. Gozoboro only scowled in disgust as he saw the trembling bottle in Seto's hands. Seto bowed his head, the room blurred as he blinked to hide the tears. Tears only enraged Gozoboro, more. The silence was seething with the horrible waiting, the feeling of an implosion festering between them. _

"_Put the damn bottle down, Seto, before you drop it." It was a dark, soft snarl,the words dripping with hideous promise. Seto managed to jerk his neck into a flaccid nod as he set the bottle on the table with the care he would give a crown jewel. There was only a sobbed breath as Seto bowed his head like he was surrendering to the executioner's ax already._

"_I'm sorry! I didn't mean-" It was a spewed, frenzied plea,as Seto choked back the sob that made it that much harder to speak coherently. The words were broken off by the brutal smack of Gozoboro's hand against his cheek. Seto clamped his lips shut as the sting flared against his aching cheek. Gozoboro noticed that the trembling had increased to the point that Seto was quaking like a human fault line. He had buried his fists under his armpits, a futile, instinctive attempt at self-protection. He stood there, wilted and waiting for the punishment, and clearly fighting the urge to howl like an animal. _

_Gozoboro huffed in annoyance, shaking his head in disgust as he halted, his hand in the air, fingers twitching in agitated indecision. Seto felt his gut clench in anguished warning as Gozoboro gave him a serene smile._

"_Well, Seto, if you truly want a drink this much, then by all means, you should certainly have one."_

_The voice was oddly 's smirk widened when Seto raised his head uncertainly, and only stared, clearly expecting another hit._

"_Sir?" It was timidly spoken as Seto stared at his adoptive father. The man glided invasively close, and lay a heavy hand on the narrow shoulder, ghosting over the bruise and thumping it. It was a mockingly paternal gesture as Seto winced at the touch. Gozoboro's velvet chuckle burbled up with the acid of volcanic ash as he pat Seto's back with the force of a blow._

_There was the soft clink of glass on marble as Gozoboro set the enormous mug down in front of Seto. Seto stared dubiously at the mug, and glanced uncertainly at his father. Gozoboro gave him another dark chuckle as he yanked the stopper from the bottle, and poured the alcohol into the mug until it nearly overflowed. The mug was slammed down in front of Seto with finality as his father snarled out, "Drink it."_

_Seto's eyes bulged at the order, flung his mouth open to plead, and never got the chance to even speak. Gozoboro snatched the mug up, heedless of the spilling, as he snatched Seto's throat like a noose, nearly hoisted him into the air, and ground the mug into his jaw. Seto choked and gagged as the burning liquid seared like a brand down his throat. He couldn't swallow, he couldn't breathe as his father continued to pour the drink as Seto sobbed and wondered if he would drown. It felt like potent lava, burning its way down his throat, coming to rest in his belly, the acrid taste making it even more torturous. His father didn't allow him any air until he suddenly set the mug down with a dull thud, and a lip curled in satisfaction. Seto exhaled in one hitching whimper as he trembled, sweating, pale, and suddenly so very, very sick._

_He wobbled like a newborn foal, stomache twisting like a trapped animal as Seto finally toppled to the floor. His entire body stomach spasmed, clenched inward like a fist as the drink that had been forced down his throat now came spewing out like a volcano. He sobbed at the blinding, burning pain as his body continued its valiant, failing fight to counteract the flood of alcohol that made his head heavy, dulled the horror into a more distant torpor, made everything so strange and languid…_

_He nearly fell face first into the disgusting puddle of abdominal rebellion, as his father only shook his head, roaring with laughter, the cackle pelting through Seto's misery like shards. The world had slid into velvet distance, the room blurred into sepia hues, and even his father's laughter had merged into the emptiness that seemed to fall around him. The vomit was sticky against his cheek, the acrid burn of bile made his abused throat burn, and he was so scared, and sick…._

_Why couldn't he get up? Why was the world spinning, and why did his head feel like it was suddenly encased in concrete? He kept throwing up, was he sick, or was he dying? He felt so awful, what else could it be? _

_Seto started sobbing again. In a voice shredded from his abused throat, he turned to Gozoboro, his eyes pleading._

"_Am I dying? What is wrong with me?"_

_His father only dismissed the question with an amused snort. "You're drunk, Seto, not dying."_

"_Will this go away? Will I feel better?"_

_The tortured questions were only answered with the chortle of laugher, and a condescending pat on his sweated forehead. Gozoboro mockingly mussed Seto's dark hair, as Seto recoiled at the stench of alcohol on his breath, the horrific way that his hands lingered over his body…_

"_Quit fussing, Seto. Tomorrow, when you're hungover, you can see for yourself what happens."_

_Seto crumbled completely, the animalistic howl exploding, ripping the very air itself with terror. "But I don't want to be sick any more! This hurts!Please, help me!"_

_Gozoboro's merriment abruptly fell from his face like a brick. Snarling, he grabbed Seto's collar and dragged him forward until they were inches apart. Seto trembled, wide-eyed, as Gozoboro finally snarled, "Then think about how you feel right now before you ever get into the liquor cabinet, you little brat."_

_His father flung him away like trash as Seto staggered two feet and finally collapsed. The tile felt cold against his cheek, the vomit not so sticky any more. The dull throb had become an ocean wave, the light pierced like spears, his head felt too heavy to move. Seto Kaiba, age ten, had passed out drunkenly on the kitchen floor. _


	24. Clarity

Seto sat rigidly in the chair, clutching it as if he were drowning and it was the only thing that kept him above the water. He had meant to sanitize it, dumb it down, cloak it in sarcasm and half-lies…everything but telling the truth. Inwardly, he shivered as he slowly slid his eyes around the room, as if expecting sniper fire. To his surprise, Troy was nodding in sad acceptance, the counselor was smiling, encouragingly. The rest looked at him with no malice, no condemnation, nothing. Hiding his shaking hands in his coat sleeves, Seto swallowed the sudden, alien tears. His voice grew more curt and soft as he slowly elaborated the hellish story with a casual ease that was sickening.

_Sunlight, bright, piercing, and burning slowly lit the kitchen tile where Seto had collapsed from the night , he slowly slid his eyes open, and cringed at the pain. His skull was throbbing dully, his muscles torpid and sluggish, and his stomach was clenched and knotted from both the horrors of the night before, and the constant heaving. His face was chilled with something cloying and rancid smelling, as was the floor beneath his cheek. Seto recoiled to see that he had passed out face down in his own vomit. Whimpering, he clamped a hand over his mouth, in humiliation. Vaguely, he remembered he had tried to crawl to the toilet, but had slid into oblivion at last. Seto stared dubiously at the empty kitchen and realized with searing, vicious clarity that Gozaoboro had simply left him to lay in his own puke, not even troubling himself to see if his son would live._

_Seto's tears rose as he scrubbed them from his eyes, and gritted his teeth. It felt like choking down a boulder as Seto swallowed back the sob, and slowly tottered upright. The world swayed, the vomit seared the back of his throat, the light made even blinking painful. Clapping a hand over his mouth, Seto waited until the urge to vomit had passed to a more bearable level. Grimacing at the mess, Seto slowly lurched towards the kitchen sink for paper towels to clean up the worst of it. He had to get it cleaned up before Gozoboro discovered it and forced him to endure it again. Seto shivered at the hellish thought, and hastily scrubbed the floor as best he could with hands shaking so much, he could barely throw the mess in the trash can._

_The floor being clean enough to escape notice, Seto scowled at the rancid smell and the muck on his shirt, as he stared, stunned at the ruined clothing he still wore. He flinched in terror when he heard the heavy footfalls on the stairwell, and froze when he heard Gozaoboro's heavy hand over the narrow shoulder tightened in warning, as Seto winced from the bone-deep smirked when he felt Seto's bone-deep quaking under his clenching drew a shaking breath, and whimpered._

"_Sir?"It was a shrill scraped whisper of terror. Gozoboro was silent as he wrenched Seto around to face him. Giving a scornful glance to the muck on Seto's shirt, he finally spoke._

"_You made quite a mess last night, boy."_

_The words were sharp and brittle as Gozaboro only narrowed his eyes._

"_I'm sorry."Seto whispered, squeezing his eyes shut, surrendering to the inevitable pain._

"_Do I need to teach you another lesson about cleaning up, Seto?" The unspoken threat, the glare that felt like a hammer against him…it was too much._

"_I'm sorry!" The apology was flung in the desperate attempt to stall the punishment, long enough for him to escape, to stop the hysterical urge to sob. Seto tensed helplessly when he felt the brutal hand grab his throat, yank his chin upright and force him to peer into the abysmal eyes. _

_Gozoboro only glowered down at him, held his tortured son in that choking grip, and abruptly let him go. Seto nearly collapsed from both the strain, and the toll of standing while so hungover._

_Seto drew a shaking breath, swallowed hard, waiting._

_Gozoboro suddenly snatched him up, and flung Seto away, as if he were unclean. He snarled out the cold edict, "Go clean up,Seto."_

_Seto bowed his head, and whispered out the choked, "Yes, sir."_

_And he fled as quickly as his quaking legs would allow. It was a slow lurch up the stairwell, almost a crawl at times. His head felt as if his brain were made of concrete and bouncing against a rubber skull. Even his thoughts hurt as he continued to haul himself upward. The bathroom was only a short distance now._

_He heard the soft, bewildered whisper of his name from across the hall, and he turned in dismay to see Mokuba._

_His little brother, only four years old, stared at him, his dark eyes huge and wounded._

"_Seto? Ya okay?" Seto's gut clenched at the tortured realization that Mokuba knew that he had been hurt, and was scared for him. Mokuba gave the stairwell a troubled glance for Gozoboro and then skittered over to his brother's side. Eyes widening, nose wrinkling at the smell, Mokuba only blinked, not understanding what was wrong._

"_Seto? Ya okay?"_

_Seto sighed, dredged up the last bit of his crumbling will, forced the crooked smile of reassurance on his face. "I'm fine, Mokuba. I just need to get cleaned up. How about I read you a story afterwards?"_

_The distraction worked mercifully well. Mokuba's face lit up, and bobbed in enthusiastic agreement. Seto smiled until his cheeks ached and gently shooed his brother away. He waited until the sound of the water running in the shower was loud enough before he broke down into sobs._

A shaking breath, inhaled sharply through his teeth, hands quaking, shoulders bent and bowed…the world blurred from sharp edges to smeared memories, so unexpectedly. It had happened over a decade ago. The memories and the aftermath had been so neatly unhealed wounds, the unspoken veneer of sarcasm and distancing distain that Seto cobbled together to shield himself from ever feeling this way again abruptly shattered.

Seto shivered, slid his arms against his chest, and swallowed hard. Forcing the soft, quivering plea out of his voice, he abruptly shifted from his protective crouch to address the wide-eyed counselor.

"I need to be excused."

The counselor hesitated until she saw the paling look of torture on his face and nodded permission, as she called for one of the techs to escort him back to his room. Seto was silent as he walked through the white hallway. He only nodded politely to the tech who unlocked his room. He waited until the tech had finally left him alone for some much needed solitude. And there, in the institutional grey room, Seto put a palm to his forehead, flinched at the strange cold of his tears.

Hidden whispers between the sips of alcohol, drinking enough to silence the hideous memories. Concealing the growing problem with cobbled together sarcasm, excuses, then outright lies. Justification, reason, anything to stop the inner storm long enough to bear it again. Fettering responsibilities, a little brother who loved him, a resolve to stop, barely scraped out invocation, and all of it shattering like Yami's bones on that hellish night.

Light and Truth, all the more cleansing and painful to grapple with because of the magnitude of how truly wrong he was about the drinking.

Guilt slithered through him, clarity seared like a brand, anguish of old remembrance warred against tortured realization, and somehow solidified into resolve. Bitter understanding of the lies alchemized into bright, burning intention.

Seto cupped his forehead, felt the slime of sweat damp against his palms as he hunched over the bed, and whispered, a vow, a prayer, a promise.

"I've got to stop...Oh, God, I have to stop, or wind up like _him….."_


	25. A Promise

"Doctor, his blood pressure is dropping." The urgency in the voice was unmistakable as the nurse glanced fearfully at the slowing beep of the heart monitor. Yami's chest rose and fell, his face still haloed by the oxygen mask, his leg propped upward and nearly sewn back together. The bone had been cleaned out nicely, the infection contained meticulously; the surgery had gone extremely well.

Until now. He was vaguely aware of the sudden stirring around him, sensed the vapid fear as heart monitor's beep fluttered, and slowed. His breathing, independent of his will, and almost out of his awareness, recoiled and grew erratic enough to cause more than a glance of concern.

The doctor gave the barked order to increase the oxygen, and the nurse skillfully turned the pressure valve on the tubing to release it. Yami's mind continued its strange tribute of his life with the flood of memories.

Slithers of oblivion, inhaled, gently impaling his breath, gently lodging in his throat, gently lulling him into the torpor. The brittle snap of bones fracturing against metal, the furrows in the ground from where the roof of his car had carved out its last moments before coming to its rocking halt upside down. The seatbelt keeping him imprisoned to the car seat, as he helplessly clawed the shards of glass away from his eyes.

Blood, hot and wet against his torn pant leg, the pearl of his calf bone framed by the scarlet shards of flesh. Glass, fragmenting, his body fragmenting, pain flaring, roaring down through his guts, blood and fear surging through him. The car had become a twisted cage of metal. He couldn't get out.

_He couldn't get out!_

Voices, flowing down from the hillside, the flicker of flashlights bouncing off the glass, the blue lights of the police and the ambulance, the gentle stoop of the paramedic as she slid her hand through hell and gripped his shaking fist with reassurance.

A tether through the chaos. The car door was sliced open. He quelled instinctively at the sawing away of the cage. He crumpled into sobs to be freed as they finally eased his body onto the gurney. Broken wreck, the car, his body, so much the same now.

Cloaked in white as they gently sedated him. Wrapped helplessly in the cocoon of straps and sheets, but too numb and exhausted to protest, or even give a damn. The tortured realization of looking into the mirror and finally understanding that the wilted, bruised mask of face that he was staring at was him. Yugi's flinch of dismay, and promise to help. Grandpa's steadying presence as he helped Yami maneuver the crutches as he stood upright. Tottering on broken bones, and broken faith as he tried and nearly fell to lurch forward a few feet to the commode. The way he curled up and cried when he nearly didn't make it. The sad, sad sense of triumph when he did.

Awake, refracted, shards on his skin. Seto's tears, dredged up and guilty and screaming for absolution Yami couldn't grant. The rigid, unyielding edict that punishing Kaiba was supposed to make some of this right. The sickening conclusion that it never could.

The trial that never was, the cameras, the watching world, the get well cards by the avalanche. The quiet peace of his own room, the horror of realizing he had nearly died, and the numbing realization that he might be dying now.

Yugi's tears, burning on skin, leeching the last bit of light, as the shrill cry of grief shattered like glass through Yami's core. Letting go.

His breath lurched in his lungs, before he exhaled.

_NO! NOT YET! NOT LIKE THIS-_

The quell of horror, the temptation of surrender to the dark, languid promise of peace. No more pain, just oblivion. Just casting off his life as a thing he no longer wanted.

Yugi's voice , a plea, his face contorted in agony, their hands entwined, their years as brothers forged by something far too deep and precious to simply cast aside now.

_For you, Yugi_.

He noted the beep of the heart monitor, heard the dull thud of his heart as it resumed its normal beat again. The relief in the room is nearly comforting, if he had memory of it. Breath, deep and regular again. Blood pressure easing towards normalcy, the danger passing. Life trickling back.

_For you, Yugi._

Bright awareness trickling back, as Yami realized that they had already rolled him back to the recovery room. His leg was still numb, but the smeared blur of fever had abated. He blinked, saw the smiling nurse as she gently smoothed the blanket over his chest.

"Welcome back, Mr. Moto. The surgery went very well. The infection was successfully removed, and you should be able to go home soon."

A trembling breath, a realization that he had emerged, and he was alive. A promise lingering like an echo through his clearing thoughts.

_For you, Yugi. And for me. For the future._

The tortured sear of infection was gone. Fearfully, he peered at his calf and saw that while it had been recasted, the sickening flamed hue was gone, and his body was free from the chilled, anguished ache of sickness. He wasn't well, but he wasn't as damaged, now. Muscle and bone no longer throbbing.

The door was flung open, and he saw the wearied, pinched faces of Yugi and Grandpa. Yugi had to restrain himself from hurtling onto the bed, dragging Yami up in his arms, seek assurance by touching his flesh and seeing with his own eyes that his brother was alright.

Yami blinked at them both from the confines of the pillow, still swooned and numb from the surgery. His eyes widened in recognition, the good corner of his mouth curled up into the familiar smirk. Yami flung his good arm upward, and out, shaking but waiting for them to come near.

Yugi only whispered his name, before he nearly flung himself into Yami. Yami propped himself up on his good elbow from the sheets, eyes shimmering with the resolve and the promise.

He gently lowered his arm over Yugi's bent shoulders, and peered into their eyes.

"Yugi, Grandpa, I am alright. And, I am better…..now."

Wide-eyed, Yugi and Solomon exchange confused glances at the change. It had been so long since Yami had sounded strong, and certain. So long since they had heard that old confidence that sounded like arrogance until they understood it was only strength. Yugi didn't know what happened, and he didn't care. All he knows is that Yami sounds hopeful, and it's more than enough.


	26. Stand

Before, Yami moved with an almost feline grace, a confidence that bordered on arrogance, a quiet certainty that was irritating as it was reassuring. And now, Yami's glide had been crippled . Mercifully, the bone infection had been cleared without further incident. Yami was given several rounds of antibiotics through the IV and placed on bedrest, which was both tedious and constricting. Yami, of course, bore the new restriction with the same stoic resolve that he had borne the rest of the suffering. He never complained, or lashed out at the Motos. He never groused about the unfairness of it, only thanked Yugi and Grandpa, and his care-givers and therapists with the same polite detachment that would have been infuriating, had he not been so well-mannered.

Even Yugi found himself feeling vaguely alienated by Yami's strange, brooding silence. Yami often seemed preoccupied with some deep, and troubling thoughts that he never divulged, or discussed. If questioned, he would simply give Yugi and Grandpa a polite answer, or an apology for worrying them. Yami had always been guarded about what he was really thinking, but never closed off to those he trusted. Now, he tried to keep his conversations light and unobtrusive, and almost immediately redirected any topic related to his injuries to something else. Yugi finally realized it was Yami's way of shielding him and his grandfather from any more emotional turmoil.

Now, Yami had finally began the much anticipated physical therapy that was supposed to help him regain the use of his wounded arm and Yugi, and Grandpa were shocked at Yami's unexpected request that he be allowed to attend the sessions alone. They had exchanged dubious glances, and honored his troubling request with no resentment, but much curiosity.

Yami found the first physical therapy session to be humiliating.

Being bedbound from his injuries had left him weak, and being disabled had left him terrified of moving. Getting upright from the chair was an ordeal unto itself. While his left side was relatively unscathed, he had the fractured right wrist, and the fractured calf still in its heavy cast. He could hoist himself onto the crutch to lurch forward, but it was a balancing act of constant shifting. In the very beginning, he had to have somebody haul him to his feet, and then hold him steady so he could gain his balance. The therapist strapped a gait belt around his narrow hips and maintained her reassuring grip until he had himself balanced on his good, left foot, and the crutch safely tucked under his right arm. He had regained the ability to clutch with his right hand enough to maneuver the crutch, but he was so afraid of falling, he could only clutch the crutch and quietly ask the therapist for his wheelchair. He sank into it, bowing his head in shame, and refusing to rise again.

The second session was only a bit better.

Yami barely hid the scowl of displeasure as the physical therapist wrapped her gaitbelt around his narrow waist, to secure a hold. He was already irritable from the early morning hour, and yet another strangling session of explaining to Yugi that he could not do anything else to help him. He loved Yugi, and Solomon. But, he found their constant coddling to be irritating, and he was tired of guarding every flinch and moment of pain from their eyes. It was hard enough to convince Yugi to allow him to endure the humiliation of these first steps by himself. He wanted no witnesses to see the broken lurch, the constant rearranging he now had to do with his own body to move. He had adapted brilliantly to the wheelchair, and had done enough strength training of his arms to hoist himself from bed to chair with no more assistance. Soon, he was propelling himself through the hospital halls with ease.

What was hard for Yami, in his slow clawing back to life, was attempting to explain to Yugi how much had been altered, and how truly stripped of everything he had been. He tried to tell Yugi of his terror of losing him, tried to explain to Solomon that he hated being shackled by the fear of injury, or the flashbacks of his broken bones in the shattered glass. Something like this shouldn't have taken such a monstrous toll, but it had.

So, Yami had retreated inward, towards silence, towards solace by keeping his troubled thoughts to himself, and gradually working through their stranglehold in his head.

Yugi found himself feeling vaguely alienated by Yami's strange, brooding silence. Yami often seemed preoccupied with some deep, and troubling thoughts that he never divulged, or discussed. If questioned, he would simply give Yugi and Grandpa a polite answer, or an apology for worrying them.

Now, Yami had finally began the much anticipated physical therapy that was supposed to help him regain the use of his wounded arm and Yugi, and Grandpa were shocked at Yami's unexpected request that he be allowed to attend the sessions alone. They had exchanged dubious glances, and honored his troubling request with no resentment, but much curiosity.

The first session, for Yami, had been humiliating. Being bedbound from his injuries had left him weak, and being disabled had left him terrified of moving. Getting upright from the chair was an ordeal unto itself. While his left side was relatively unscathed, he had the fractured right wrist, and the fractured calf still in its heavy cast. He could hoist himself onto the crutch to lurch forward, but it was a balancing act of constant shifting. In the very beginning, he had to have somebody haul him to his feet, and then hold him steady so he could gain his balance. The therapist strapped a gait belt around his narrow hips and maintained her reassuring grip until he had himself balanced on his good, left foot, and the crutch safely tucked under his right arm. He had regained the ability to clutch with his right hand enough to maneuver the crutch, but he was soon exhausted from one attempt to hobble around the room.

Yami paused to roll his chair until the toes of his good foot brushed the wall, locked the breaks. He grabbed the crutch, propped it up against the wall, and waited for the therapist to gently clutch the belt. He wrapped his good hand around the bar, experimentally gripped the bar with his bad hand and was pleased that he could hold on. He eased his cast to the floor, made sure the ground was steadily beneath both of his feet. Yami clenched the bar hard enough to whiten his knuckles, despite the therapist's reassurances. He was leaning forward so far that his forehead was nearly touching the wall, as the therapist quickly tucked his crutch underneath his arm.

Exhaling, Yami timidly shifted his weight from his good foot to the crutch, and slowly, carefully hoisted himself upright. And, for the first time in weeks, he was standing.


	27. Brothers

Seto and Troy both perched uneasily on the institutional gray bench of the small visiting room, populated by plastic chairs, outdated magazines, awash with the hum of the fluorescent light above them. Around them, their fellow residents sat waiting for their loved ones to be allowed in the drab waiting area. They were the ones who had accumulated enough points for visiting privileges, and soon, the bored tech announced that visitation was in session. She stood at the door, gave the waiting families a stern lecture on the rules, and at long last, stepped aside to permit admittance. Soon, the room was filled with the glad sounds of reunions, of happy children shouting for their parents and embraces.

Seto had spent the odd morning before hand fretting about facing Mokuba, or actually attempting to help his roommate calm down. Seto was still grappling with the implications that he had tried to help somebody besides himself, and his beloved little brother.

Troy had spent most of the morning pacing their room. He agonized that his fiancé had finally packed up her stuff, their child, and finally said the hell with it. Seto, to his own surprise, had empathy, rather than scorn. After watching his roommate walk and worry around the room in the same irritating circle, Seto finally grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him down to sit. At least the frantic pacing had stopped, and the unending stream of unpleasant possibilities were no longer flooding the room. Troy looked at Seto in surprise, and Seto stared at his own hand on his roommate's sleeve in shock for a moment.

Abruptly flinging his hand away, Seto growled in irritation, "Your pacing is infuriating. Calm down."

Troy only glared, and Seto slid his eyes warily away.

"This may seem like a dumb question, Troy, but didn't your fiancé stay with you during the worst of your drinking?"

Troy swallowed hard, but gave him a curt, pained nod. Seto sighed, with rare patience.

"If she loved you enough to stay through the worst, don't you think she loves you _now_ to stay for the best?"

It was a logical question that apparently took Troy by surprise. Hitching his shoulders, Troy finally raised his eyes to Seto.

"I owe her so much, Seto. What if I relapse and-"

Seto hesitated. After a long, careful pause, Seto shook his head with no sarcasm.

"Maybe, instead of fearing what you _might_ do in the future, you can show her how far you've come _now_."

Troy looked startled. Seto narrowed his eyes, but continued.

"Your fiancé has enough faith in your future together to stay, Troy. Why the hell shouldn't you?"

Seto nearly clapped a hand over his mouth to halt the sentimental spew, and say something more biting and sarcastic. He stopped, though, when Troy's wilted misery finally lessened.

"You're right." Troy answered. The tension that bent his shoulders slowly eased out with his exhalation.

"Thank you." It was barely breathed as the visitors were finally admitted. They both flinched at the bright voice calling Troy's name. Seto watched dubiously as the joy flickered over Troy's face, and he flung his arms open to the pretty, and heavily pregnant brunette. She embraced him fiercely, buried her face in his red hair, in tears. Seto didn't hear any of the words exchanged, but Troy was grinning. Seto edged away as far as he could in the small room to give them privacy.

Uneasily, Seto's hands strayed to his trench coat collar. He instinctively straightened it, smoothed the non-existent creases out of his slacks, and resumed his perch in the battered plastic chair. Rolland was coming, and bringing Mokuba.

It had been two weeks. Two hellish weeks of aching separation, of staring at the walls, and attending group therapy, and accounting for even his thoughts. Six phone calls home, six phone calls to him, limited to ten minutes. Rolland had given him his reassurances that Mokuba was alright, that he understood why Seto was gone. Mokuba had been bright, and chipper, more for his older brother's behalf than any could ever know, through each phone call. Rolland had even helped the youngster mail a home-made card, scribbled out on construction paper, to Seto. Seto had received it with the now-mastered art of hiding his tears, as he carried the tattered thing in his pocket. He kept it close, like a talisman.

And now, after two weeks, and at the halfway point, Rolland had finally convinced Seto's shame and guilt was a small issue compared to Mokuba's bewildered loss. Seto cringed inwardly when he imagined trying to explain to Mokuba why all the doors had locks, or why so many people wore that withered, caged look.

"Sir?" Seto flinched in surprise at the sound of Rolland. Seto turned to face him, as Rolland's eyes flickered over the room, his hand cupped protectively over Mokuba's shoulder.

Mokuba shrugged the hand off, and was already sprinting across the short distance, with an exuberant cry of "Big brother!"

Seto grunted as Mokuba launched himself into Seto's arms, and clung to his neck. Stooping lower to accommodate Mokuba's shorter stance, Seto scooped up his baby brother, and hoisted him.

Mokuba squealed in delight, as Seto buried his face in the dark hair, and cradled him. Not even Rolland could stop the faint curl of a smile, as the Kaiba siblings just held onto each other. When Mokuba started squirming, Seto let him go.

Sliding his eyes upward to Rolland, he gave him a curt nod.

"Mokuba looks well, Rolland. As usual, you've done an excellent job."

Rolland hitched his shoulders, embarrassed. "It was the least I could do for you, sir, during your….confinement."

Seto's lips curled into a bitterly amused smirk at Rolland's odd tact.

"Rolland-" Seto answered, gently steering Mokuba's cling to his waist, "I appreciate your attempt to soften the label, but there's no point in dancing around the issues of where I am….or why."

Seto's knuckles whitened at the last quaking word, but he kept his voice even and soft with a troubled glance to his brother.

Rolland nodded, understanding, as he whispered, "Sir, he knows nothing more than what you've told him, according to your wishes."

Seto shut his eyes, and bowed his head, exhaling softly, as he made the visible effort to collect himself.

"Thank you, Rolland. That means a great deal."

Mokuba, as if sensing that he was being discussed, tugged at Seto's sleeve. Seto looked at him, curiously, waiting, as Mokuba gently pushed himself free of the embrace and stared around at the room, with wide, troubled eyes.

"Seto, I don't like it here."

Seto worked his clenched lips into a smile of reassurance, as he nodded, wearily. "I don't like it here, either, Mokuba. But, I won't be here long, I promise. "

"When ya coming home, Seto?"

Another sigh, and an agonized glance to Rolland, as Seto answered with an effort to keep his voice even, "A few more weeks, Mokuba. I won't be here much longer, you know that."

"Big brother, I don't want to wait for you to come home. I want you home _now."_ Mokuba's voice had taken on a rare whine, as his round, baby features twisted into a dark scowl.

"It's not fair, Seto. Why won't they let you go home?" The question was bellowed, as the entire room halted, and all eyes burned through the back of Seto's skull. Normally, he didn't care about the scrutiny of others, and the weight of the stares of so many would have been ignored, or sneered at. But now…

Seto scooped up Mokuba, and turned to the tech at the door.

"I'm sorry, but my brother is having a tantrum, and I don't want to disrupt anybody else's visit. Do you mind if we stay out here until he calms down?"

The tech nodded, and Seto carried Mokuba to the long, grim line of plastic chairs in the lobby. Rolland followed silently. Seto finally found stopped at the far edge of the room, where there was a bit of privacy, before he lowered himself into the chair, and stood Mokuba on the floor.

"Mokuba…"The name was choked, as Seto lowered his head, the vicious parade of regrets and memories already marching over all else.

Yami, still shattered in the hospital. Mokuba, the accusing tears burning in his eyes, as he stared up at his brother, not understanding.

A bitter sigh, and a weary hand to scrub away the thoughts, for the millionth time. How in the hell did one mistake fragment so many lives? Would it ever end?

"Mokuba….I'm sorry. You're right, this isn't fair. None of it is. Mokuba, if I knew how to make this up to you, I would, but I can't-"

Seto's words were halted by the small hand at his sleeve. Mokuba's great, dark eyes were troubled, but uncannily aware, for somebody so young.

"Just come home, big brother."

Seto's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Mokuba, it's not that simple. I can't just _leave-"_

"Not now, you can't, I know. But soon, right, Seto?"

At seeing Seto's flinch, Mokuba almost apologetically shrugged. "Every night, Rolland and I make marks on the calendar, big brother. There's lots of them, now."

The accusation flickered into another scowl. Seto shut his eyes, hard, trying not to crumble and plead for forgiveness.

"I know, Mokuba, and I'm sorry."

Mokuba considered his brother, with an odd gravity, before he forced the bright, innocent smile that was neither any more.

"Just come home soon, big brother. I love ya."

And he flung himself headlong into Seto's arms, in the well-practiced, and still desperate attempt to smooth that contortion of agony from his brother.


	28. Healing

Yugi sighed as he slowly eased the car into the sliver of a parking spot. Yami's physical therapy session had ended, and Yugi was here to pick him up. It had become both a familiar and hated place over these last disjointed weeks? months? Yugi shook his head, not knowing or caring. Yami had been through so much already. The injustice chafed. The responsibility for his crippled family member loomed. Seto Kaiba was still at the drug rehab, set to be freed when his mandated incarceration was over with. Yugi snarled at the thought of Seto walking, while Yami still sat in the wheelchair, waiting for the bones to heal. He hid his frustration over the fragmentation of his life with his usual, false cheer. It was far easier to smile, and gloss the sunshine over everything than to admit to himself or Yami that he was tired and disgusted, and fearful that things would never scowled at the realization that he had arrived earlier than he had thought, and sat back in the seat, letting the troubled thoughts continue.

Yami had changed, too. Before, he had that infuriating confidence, that bordered on was short, but he stood tall, and sure of himself and his place in thw world. Now, he stared down at his leg with loathing, and hardly moved or spoke without wary deliberation. It was as if the wreck had fractured his will, and Yugi didn't know what to do about that.

Yugi knew that Yami hated the limited mobility, and the embarrassment of suddenly needing help to get out of bed,getting dressed, using the bathroom. To have his food cut into bits because his jaw still hurt, and his good hand was too shaking and bent to grip the fork well enough to bring it to his the beginning, Yami had to drink power shakes and eat globby things, like pudding and jello. It was both tragic, and hilarious to watch Yami glare hatefully at the blobs on his plate and force himself to eat. He hated the texture, and gagged more than once, but never complained. Later, he was allowed pureed food. Solomon would cheerfully grind Yami's food-whatever he wanted-into a powder, and simply wait for his grandson to devour the food. Yami would force the smile, and reassurances that having grilled chicken shredded into nearly liquid did absolutely nothing to quell the great watched Yami clean his plate with unconvincing bravado, but left his grandson alone. Later, as Yugi gathered up the dishes, he stopped by Yami's chair, and met his eyes.

"Tell me the truth, chicken was awful, wasn't it?"

Yami's eyes flickered with some emotion Yugi could not place, before he finally answered,"The chicken was very good, Yugi. Grandpa is a wonderful cook, you know that."

"But?" The question lingered,as Yami hesitated before answering. "Yugi, it seems like a small inconvience...my food hasn't changed in taste, only texture. It's a vast improvement from jello and powershakes, believe me. But, it's still one more thing that I've got to deal with, and I'm getting very, very tired of it."

Yami scowled, and sighed. "And then, when I see how hard you and Grandpa work to help me through this, and what a liability I've become, it makes me feel even more petty for complaining. I'm sorry, Yugi." Yami shut his eyes, and put a palm to his forehead.  
From behind him, he heard Yugi slide the chair over until they were inched apart and the gentle hand carefully setting itself on his good arm.

A sigh, breathed out harshly, as Yugi sharply answered, "Yami, there's hardly anything petty about any of this!"

Yami jerked in surprise at the sudden anger. Yugi drew in a calming breath, clearly struggling to keep his emotions under control as he continued, more softly, "Yami, we nearly lost up your chicken, helping you out of bed...none of that is a big compared to you not being here at all."

Yugi watched as Yami's arm went rigid beneath his hand with a sharp breath. And then, the wavering, false smile flickered over his lips, with an equally bright, and false answer. "You are very right, you."

Yami's good hand lightly tapped Yugi's, as he gently eased himself out of Yugi's grip, withdrawing again. Yugi hid the scowl as he gathered up the dishes, and Yami wheeled himself away from the table, and back to his room, where he'd spend hours with the door shut and the solitude to comfort him. Yami had never been outgoing, even before the wreck. But, he would at least spend some time with the family. Yugi scowled bitterly. Considering how much the other two Motos smothered Yami with their overwhelming concern that bordered on imprisonment, he could understand why.

Since the wreck, the basic, physical side of the caregiving had fallen to Yugi. Solomon helped with everything he could, of course. But, he was old, and frail, and both Yugi and Yami agreed in private that the old man should be spared as much of the lifting as possible. The hospital had given the Motos the names of a few care-giving agencies, and Yami, once again fretting about his family above himself, had suggested hiring some outside help for a bit. But, when Yugi saw that sharp line of worry between Yami's eyes, he only shook his head, and reassured his brother and grandfather that it was a temporary situation. Yami was expected to make a recovery of some sort. Their shattered lives were supposed to be on the mend. And everything was supposed to return to normal. Yugi palmed his forehead, wearily. None of that had happened, and he felt both petty and mean for being irritated about the whole thing. Yami, of course, could read the resentment and felt it like a wound. Proud, independent, and immensely private,being stripped of all three had made him withdrawn, stoic, and distant. Yami had always been an introvert, only conversing freely with those he trusted and treating the rest of the people with polite regard and nothing hid both joy and wound with equally rigid manners, and it was one of the few things that Yami could do to piss Yugi off.

"Yami, wait." Yami halted, and turned over his shoulder, warily at Yugi's command. Eyes searching Yugi's face, he rolled himself back to the table, and waited. Yugi felt angered at the way Yami looked trapped.

"Yugi, you have something on your mind. What is it?"

Yugi felt the question like a whiplash, regardless of Yami's intentions. Yami's voice had been that carefully cultivated, soft command that he gave everybody..not Yugi.

"Yami, you nearly died, and you think we're that damn concerned about chopping up chicken? You really think it bothers me to help you to the bathroom, or to help you get your clothes picked out, or drive you to therapy?"

Yami's eyes narrowed dangerously, when Yugi hurled out, "Doesn't any of this make you angry? Slightly pissed? Or are you so afraid of what you're feeling that all you can do is be polite and fake?"

Yami flinched at towered over him, now, eyes burning, waiting for an answer that Yami choked back down. Yugi's eyes tightened when he saw Yami actually swallow the words back, and struggle to maintain the veneer of serenity that was in danger of fragmenting.

"What I feel is my business, Yugi, and I don't want to burden you any more than I already have. Please excuse me." The dismissal stung more than a slap as Yami put his shaking hands on the rims and attempted to roll himself away.

Yugi stepped in front of him, glaring down at him.

"Yami,where the hell do you get off pretending that this doesn't affect you? Do you really think that I'm so weak that I can't handle you being honest about how hard this is on you? Wouldn't you love to put Kaiba in that chair, and trade?"

Yugi knew he had gone too far when Yami winced, and stared at him, glaring out from the bruised eye with anguish.

"What do you want me to do, Yugi? What would it say about me if I rejoiced at the thought of anybody-even Kaiba-being injured like this?"

Yami raised his wrist, let the swollen fingers dangle between them. "Hating Kaiba doesn't heal me, Yugi. Nor does sobbing like a child over things that can't be fixed." Another bitter, pointed glare, as Yami slid his wrist back to the rim of the wheelchair's wheel, and prepared to roll himself away.

Yugi had been too crippled by the hurt to answer. And, Yami had been at a complete loss as to what to say.

So, the distance between Yugi and Yami increased, even as each tried to breech its span. Yugi and Yami had fallen into bitter, distant, protective silence. Yugi had the apology formed, rehearsed, and ready for action each time Yami woke up, and they began the tedious process of getting him out of bed. Yami had immediately eshewed the hospital gowns when he was finally allowed to go home. It was a messy compromise for him to accept wearing boxers and tee-shirts at home, and not his usual jeans and spikes. Yami had seen quite clearly that his cast simply wouldn't fit into the jeans and they were too much of a struggle. Solomon had very kindly picked up some flannel pajama pants, with wide enough legs for Yami's cast. This was an improvement, but Yugi learned to ignore the longing glance towards the black jeans.

Now,Yami was doing well enough to pull on the clothes that Solomon, or Yugi left out for him by his , loathing being a burden, would usually wait with gritted teeth and barely concealed desperation for the morning bathroom trip, rather than disturbing Yugi's sleep. He would conceal a wrong move with a wince, and solemn reassurance, as he was hefted and placed into the wheelchair. He would move himself as much as possible, and always thank Yugi regardless of how poorly executed, or abrupt or careless his lifting was.

Yami was good at easing himself into sitting upright. He would gently drag the battered leg and arm to the edge of the bed, scoot as close as he could and plant the weight on his good foot, before he would lower himself into the chair. Yugi had to lift him, and set him in the first weeks. Now, Yami was able to stand for limited amounts of time, which made it easier for all. Yugi no longer scrambled for the chair, and Yami had lost much of the paralyzing fear of falling. The last x-rays showed that the fractures in his wrist and calf were finally knitting back together. The dreaded bone infection was treated successfully with the antibiotics, and Yami only used the pain-pills for treating the more vicious aches after physical therapy. But, ever since that horrible conversation, Yugi had retreated into obligation, carefully moving Yami with all the regard he might show moving a corpse. Yugi was careful, of course. Even in his bitterness, he handled Yami as if he could shatter, and it was becoming insulting.

Apparently, Yami's bones weren't the only thing broken.

Yugi shook off the bitter thoughts again. He wanted to apologize, make it right, make any of this right. But, he didn't know how, and Yami, apparently too wounded and wary to consider talking, had only spoken in that irritating, clipped politeness that he reserved for everybody else. And now, Yugi.

Drumming his nails against the plastic covering over the chair's arm, he glared at the clock again. Yami would be wheeled out soon,and the whole hellish cycle of all unsaid would start anew. He hated it. But, he didn't know what to do. He was just as helpless as Yami in some aspects. And he didn't know when any of it was going to get better. He knew for a fact that it sure as hell wasn't going to be normal.

Yugi scowled again, and refolded his arms. The receptionist boredly announced that was on his way out. Sighing, Yugi rose with a polite nod, and waited. Normally, Yami would be wheeled out by an aide, where he would sign himself out at the desk, and wait for Yugi to pull up the car, and help him into the front seat.

The minutes crawled. Nothing.

Just when Yugi was about ready to quiz the receptionist about Yami's arrival, the door opened, and a beaming aid walked through it. She paused to prop it open with a foot. Yugi heard Yami's small grunt of pain, and shot up from the chair, instinctively. He halted in disbelief when he saw Yami out of the wheel chair, and slowly tottering forward on the crutches. Yami's lips were pressed into the tight, white line of determination as he swung the one crutch to the front, heaved his good side to bear the weight on its pummel, and then propel his bad leg forward into a clean stride. He did not wobble, or falter as he continued the slow but proud journey out of the hall, and into the glare of the waiting room was trailed by another aide, who carefully walked behind, inches away in case he fell. Yami strode through the door, gave the waiting aides the first real smile that Yugi had seen in so long.

Yugi stared at him, disbelieving as Yami finally halted, carefully resting his battered wrist in the prong of the crutch. He looked into Yugi's eyes, the triumphant smirk finally emerging as he gestured downward towards his busted leg.

"I don't think that the wheel chair will be necessary any more, Yugi. My apologies if it is inconvient."

Yugi's eyes were huge and glittering. "But the doctors didn't know if you were going to be able to walk after the fracture and infection! Yami, how-"

Yugi stopped as the tears finally spilled over. Yami shifted his weight to his good foot, and hooked his good arm over Yugi's shoulders. The one armed embrace was a sliver of how strong his grip used to be, but it was slowly returning.

"I've been practicing walking for the last few weeks, me if I kept it secret until I knew that I'd be able to leave the wheelchair behind."

Yugi's eyes widened. "You mean that you don't need it any more?"

Yami shrugged. "I may need it in the future, if I'm re-injured. I don't plan on throwing it for now, I need to walk as much as possible, to regain my strength. And, I have no intention of going back, Yugi. I've come too far for that. We both have." Yami said quietly, with a pointed look at his crutches.

"Yugi,this healing...it will take both of us." Yugi was silenced as Yami raised those weary, sad eyes to him.

"I know, that lately, your life has been consumed with helping through this, helping me heal, making sure that I'll recover.I know that help is necessary for me to move on from this, and you've been heroic in helping me, Yugi. However, it's not enough."

Yugi stared at him, shocked, as Yami gently shook his head, and squeezed his shoulder to quell the storm. Softly, Yami continued, "In some way, what happened to me that night, happened to you, Yugi. No, you didn't suffer through the actual event, but you are just as shattered as I was, and in some ways, worse. Yugi, I can't heal until you do."

Yugi was already shaking his head, but his retort was silenced by Yami's reassuring, but stern shake of his head.  
"I know that it's been extremely difficult for you, as well, and I'm sorry that I've left you to face it alone. I know that you feel like you have to be strong because of my injuries, but in doing so, you've unintentionally shut me out of what you are truly enduring. Will you let me help you, now?"

The question lingered as Yugi's face contorted. He was speechless and nearly in tears as he nodded. 


	29. Bitter

It had been a long time in coming, but Yami had finally clawed his way back to some normalacy. The bruises around his eyes had finally faded, replacing the mottled eye socket with the normal flesh tone before the wreck. His nose had been broken, but he had learned to ignore the slightly disjointed angle. He realized, after many hours of scrutiny in the mirror, that the differences were much, much larger in his mind than on his face. There was a faint scar etched from his hairline to his right temple from the busted windshield. His right hand was still a bit weak, but after hours of squeezing the exercise ball, and physical therapy, his grip slowly returned. He had exchanged the wrist to elbow cast for a removable wrist sling that eased the strain off of his recovering tendons. His fingers still spasmed a bit, but he could write, grasp his beloved cards, and function almost as well as he could before the accident. His wrist was roped with dark crisscrossed lines in a perverse pattern of scars from surgery, and glass. The doctors told him that heavy scarring was a likely outcome, so he uneasily pulled his long sleeves over his marred flesh, and simply accepted it as yet another unpleasant turn of events, rather than a crippling injury.

His calf-fractured in two separate places, with a bone infection to boot-was healing much faster than the doctors anticipated. The bulky plaster cast had been replaced with a boot cast that encased the wounded joints in soft cloth, and was then strapped over his foot from the knee down. It was much lighter, more comfortable, and easier to manuver. He still hobbled around on the one crutch, but he was much faster, and would more than likely switch to a cane as his balance improved, and his stride became smoother. Yugi could barely hide his amusement at watching the formerly graceful Yami hopping around like a bird, but it was heartening to see him healing.

Yami still contended with aches that he didn't have before. The level of pain was so low compared to what he had been through, he only took the muscle relaxants and pain killers after a particularly grueling physical therapy session, or if he was having what he had come to lable, "a bad night."

And through it all, Yami had yet to voice a complaint, whine, or gripe about the savage turn of events. Yugi once asked him about his lack of animosity towards the whole thing, and Yami only stared at him, with those deep eyes and forced, weary smile. It was the same tired thing he presented to anybody who asked about his health, or a topic he found too intrusive to discuss, but felt too impolite to deflect.

"It's not true that I don't complain, Yugi. It's just that I know that it does no good, and it changes nothing. Do I think this situation is unfair? Absolutely. But, would whining do anything but make it worse for me and harder on you and Grandpa? Of course not."

And then, Yami embraced him, whispering, "I never would have survived this without you, Yugi. Thank you."

Kaiba's name was seldom mentioned between them. Yugi would only bristle in anger at Yami's almost delusional forgiveness, and Yami would try and fail to explain why he couldn't simply hate Seto and move on with his life. Indeed, the whole issue of Seto Kaiba was a troubling one. Yami had not seen him since the odd exchange at the hospital, or the court date.

In the trial of the public eye, Seto had been tried, convicted, and hated for what he had done. However, as Yami's injuries faded, so did the memory of the wreck faded from the collective recollection of society, as well. Yami wasn't sure what to think of it. He had found the press coverage invasive, and refused all requests for interviews, as did the other Motos. It wasn't necessarily out of respect for Seto Kaiba. Seto had not pushed for a gag order, and Yami didn't know if Seto only considered himself worthy of more punishment, or if it was an attempt to sanitize the whole episode.

Seto had certainly lived up to his commitment of taking care of the medical bills, and all related expenses. He was apparently too cowardly, or merciful to involve the Motos with any more of the details of the payments and paperwork than necessary. The medical bills were simply charged to Seto's account.  
It had only taken a few awkward, and apologetic conversations with Roland, who was clearly conflicted about defending what was left of Seto's name, to genuine grief over what Yami had gone through. The wrecked car had been replaced almost immediately, complete with the awkward presentation of an embarrassed Roland simply bowing his head to Yugi's snarl, and apologetically reappearing with keys two days later. Yami stared in numb disbelief at the top of the line, glittering thing that now sat in their humble driveway, and inwardly cringed.

Roland had only muttered his apologies, and quickly fled, as Yami and Grandpa stared after him. Yami did not call the man back, not wishing to prolong the ill-will, or grappling with his own reactions.

Yami never forgot the way that Roland had marched up to their door with brisk resolve and stared in sorrow at his injuries. Apparently, Roland had intended to handle the whole thing as nothing more than a business transaction, but had been completely blindsided when confronted with the reality and the cost of Seto's mistake.

"Mr. Moto..." A bewildered sigh, and a shake of the head, as Roland's jaw tightened. "Please accept my apologies for your suffering, sir. I...wish you a speedy recovery."

Yami tilted his head at that, grateful that Yugi and Grandpa were both gone. Hobbling forward, he stared in silence at Roland, reminding himself that Roland was only a messenger and not a cause.

"Thank you." Yami said stiffly, clearly waiting for Roland to explain why he had come to the Moto home.

", I apologize for any inconvience that this may pose, but I won't take much of your time. I'm only here to ensure that you have all that you need for your recovery."

Yami raised an eyebrow at that. "I'm afraid that I don't quite understand your reason for being here. Please be more specific."

Roland was clearly uncomfortable with the blunt question, and attempted and failed at being delicate. "The expenses, sir, from your accident. I'm here to make sure that you are adequately compensated."

Yami narrowed his eyes, quivering. "No amount of money can compensate me for what I've suffered. Please make sure that Seto knows that."  
Rolland cringed as if struck. "Sir, he knows. Please believe me when I tell you this, he knows."

Yami scowled. "Good."

Roland stared down at him a long moment, before he hesitantly continued. "Mr. Moto, will you please hear me out for one more moment?"

Yami's glare softened a bit, as he nodded, curtly. "Please, understand that Seto is not trying to buy your forgiveness, sir. He knows it would be insulting, and you would be absolutely right to hate him for the attempt. And he's been tortured by what he's done to you since it happened. I'm in no way suggesting that he shouldn't feel guilty, or take responsibility, sir. I assure you, he's done both, and will continue to do so. I've never seen him so broken, and he will never be the same from this. And, from what I understand, neither will you."  
Roland whispered, pointedly, as Yami rigidly gripped his cane, and twisted the handle in his shaking fingers. The words were bitten off as he forced out the bitter reply, "Do you truly believe that I give a damn about Seto's suffering? His guilt? In case you've not noticed, I've had much, much more to contend with in these last few months than I ever thought possible, and I'm just now reaching some point of stability. I'm just now reaching the point where I can somewhat walk, and regain the use of my hands."

Rolland recoiled at the sharp, biting sigh, as Yami's fingers curled over his cane, as if he wanted to fling it away. Troubled, he swallowed down enough of the anger to regain some self-control.

"Why are you telling me this?" His violet eyes were guarded with curiosity, and then narrowed again with realization. "He doesn't know that you are telling me this, does he?"

Roland flushed, and shook his head. "No, sir, he doesn't."

Yami smiled, bitterly. "Does Seto understand how close he came to killing me? It's not just an issue of which bones were broken, or how long the recovery period is, Roland. I almost died, over a few drinks. Are you comfortable with the idea of a life being worth so little? What Seto did that night was unforgivable, and sickening. And sanitizing it by deeming it a temporary lapse of judgement, or a silly mistake is insulting."

The brutal words were soft and snarled, as Yami continued, "You keep informing me that Seto's taken full responsibility for his behavior. Do you truly believe that?"

Roland tensed at the question, but nodded sharply. "Yes, Mr. Moto. I do."

"The only thing that can redeem any of this for me is the knowledge that Seto won't inflict this on anybody else." Yami's burning eyes softened, as he looked down at his mangled foot. "If there's any good that can come out of this, that would be it."

Roland stared down at him, uncertainly.

"Mr. Moto...may I have your permission to pass that onto Seto?"

Yami regarded him, warily. "Why?"

Roland hesitated. "Mr. Moto, I won't ask you to see Seto Kaiba as undeserving of your hatred. You have the view of him being the depraved alcoholic that nearly killed you. But, sir, please believe me, when I tell you this...that isn't Seto, sir. To be honest, I'm completely at a loss as to how any of this happened. And I think...so is he."

"There is a completely rational explanation. He drank, decided to drive drunk, and almost killed me. I see no purpose in complicating the issue by trying to decipher Kaiba's intentions. Maybe you can derive some sort of comfort by pretending that Seto is somehow a helpless victim, but it changes nothing."

The words were so much harsher than Yami had ever spoken, and he halted when he saw Roland wilt. Yami shut his eyes, drew a long breath, and subdued his anger under the chill of courtesy.

"I don't mean to be rude, but I see no point in continuing this discussion. Please excuse me." The dismissal was polite, but cold, as Yami hobbled backwards into the comforting familiarity of the small room.

"Mr. Moto, please wait."

Yami's features hardened as Roland apologetically held out a business card, emblazoned with the KC logo. Yami squinted at it.

"If you do have a need of anything, sir, further therapy, treatments, or even gas for your car, please call this number. I promise that you won't have to speak to Seto to get what you need, if that troubles you."

Yami accepted the card, and stared at the pristine, hand-written number on the card. Roland flushed.

"And what if I felt the pressing need to stroll into the drug treatment center, and had a chat with Kaiba? Would you stop me?"

Roland's eyes went huge at the bitter question. "Mr. Moto, I don't think that would be wise."

His gut clenched in alarm at Yami's bitter smirk, before fleeing.


	30. Thd Breaking Point

Seto was genuinely attempting to be more cooperative, more open, more divulging of old wounds. His court-mandated therapy sessions had become less of a tortured ordeal. His lead counselor was kind enough to emphasize the corolation between progress in his rehabilitation, and leaving the treatment center for a second chance, or a jail cell. His pride had taken a crippling hit from his own foolishness and Seto refused any more stupid attempts to dodge the truth that kept hitting all defenses like a sledge hammer.  
He *was* making progress. He treated the techs with guarded, polite tolerance, Troy with genuine respect, and his keepers with begrudging patience. As a resident, he was almost angelic, rarely quibbling about petty issues, doing his assigned chores without griping or threats. Aside from his humiliating visit to the concrete room that still chafed his memory, he took care to cause as little trouble as possible.

Mokuba became a regular fixture, visiting three times a week in the little sepia visitor's room, flanked by the loyal Rolland. His little brother's love had become a refuge and an oasis in a chaotic sea of angst and issues, any more. His court reports detailing his treatment progress were glowing. Seto honestly hoped for nothing more than to graduate his twelve steps, quietly exit the drug center, and put the whole sordid episode behind him.

And yet, as he sat in the plastic chair, under the appraising gaze of his therapist, he knew that it would never be so.

It felt like a open wound, all of his issues and hang ups, and pain. Garbage he had collected, things he longed to leave untouched.  
The lead therapist apparently thought she could purge him of his demons and somehow liberate him. Seto cringed inwardly,knowing that some things were buried too deep to dislodge, and were simply better left alone.

Today's therapy session was a brutal one. Seto felt like a cornered animal as he gave his therapist a withering glare.  
The hard plastic of the chair was digging into his bent spine, and his arms were balled under his fists in the futile attempt to shield himself. Today's unpleasant topic was his long running hatred for his adoptive father, Gozoboro, and if this was why Seto drank.

The sarcasm lingered on his tongue, and then wilted, as he forced a calm he didn't feel.  
The words were soft, and forced, as he swallowed hard.

"I don't know how much credibility I have when I admit this, but nobody is more disgusted, embarrassed, or ashamed of my drinking than I am. I am in no way attempting to dodge responsibility for my mistake. I nearly killed an inocent person, and believe me...  
nobody is more shocked by that than I am."

There was the brittle sigh, as he looked at his therapist, who waited with well practiced patience for him to continue. He scrubbed a tired hand over his temples, and then ran an uneasy thumb across his knuckles.

"I never meant for this to happen, and I'm still grappling with how in the hell this is even possible. This is the first and only time that I have ever had any legal trouble, did you know that? "

The therapist shook her head, and scribbled in her notes. Seto narrowed his eyes at the scratching sound.

"You know what the truly screwed up thing is about this, though?" The brittle chuckle fractured with no mirth as he shook his head in disgust at himself.

"I want to drink."

The admission made his blood run cold, and he watched as her pen went still across the page. His eyes slid to the counselor, who only gave him an encouraging nod.

"I want to drink, because it's the only thing that I've found that grants me the ability to forget, to stop the thoughts. I just want to have one night where I'm not haunted and hounded, and terrified of losing it. And if it meant drinking myself into oblivion, so be it it was worth it."

He shook his head, bitterly. "Understand this. I was never a slobbering drunk that got intoxicated and embarrassed themselves in public.  
In social situations, I would restrict myself to only a few sips of wine with business associates. I never, ever drank around Mokuba.  
I never allowed my alcohol intake to interfer with my obligations at work, or any other area of my life. Ironically, my ability to function even as a closet drunk was essentially what blinded me to how horrific my problem really was. As long as I was able to keep KaibaCorps intact,  
and my little brother content and safe, as long as I kept the symptons managable, and everything smoothly running, I had no problem at all."

"Mr. Kaiba, would you say that you were aware of how your drinking impacted your life before your admission here?"

The therapist kept her tone gentle and neutral, as Seto scowled.

"I would have to be quite an idiot to somehow unknowingly become an alcholic. And unfortunately, that is what I was. It wasn't so much a matter of unawareness of the issue. I was very aware of the fact that I was drinking. The true crux of the issue was that I was unable and unwilling to face the truth of what I was doing to myself, and eventually...to others."

He flinched at the unspoken memories, and haltingly continued. His fingers clawed unknowingly at the chair arms.  
"I know that it is written in one of your case notes that I had my first experience with alcohol at the age of ten, and that it was extremely..." His eyes narrowed as he finally found a sanitizing word. "unpleasant."

The word felt too heavy to heave out, and too disgustingly benign to take back.

The counselor weighed her words carefully before quietly venturing to speak. "How was your relationship with your adopted father?"

Seto snorted in perverse amusement, before he spat, "In a word, it was hell. And that sordid episode of my forced drinking was one of his kinder moments."

The patient silence went on as she politely waited for him to elaborate, or keep his mouth shut. "That must have been very difficult for you. Did your adopted father struggle with alcoholism?"

Seto shook his head. "He never struggled with his drinking in the sense that he ever tried to stop, or gave a damn who it hurt. He was very skilled and manipulative at hiding both the extent and the fact that he drank at all. I lived in a lot of fear of what would happen when he would finally come home from his office, and shut himself away with the liquor cabinet. Suffice it to say that his episodes led to a lot of chaos, and leave it at that, please."

Her eyes swung to him in concern at the sudden, small entreaty. His mouth was a thin white line as he glanced at the clock.

"Your time here is nearly up, Mr. Kaiba. You have some good insight to your problems. Are you comfortable with concluding this session for now?"

Seto was already rising from his seat as he gave her a small, curt polite goodbye. He waited irritably to be taken across the unit and back to his room where he had a few hours of free time before group therapy in the evening. He kept the forced serene look on his face as the tech unlocked his room to allow him entry. He held it together long enough to ensure that his roomate was gone.  
He kept his composure when the tech boredly reminded him to be in the cafeteria for dinner.

And then when he saw that he was alone in the room, he finally got rid of the twisted knot in his gut by choking out the tears and vomiting in the bathroom.

He hid the sound by turning on the facet full blast, locking the door, and clapping a hand over his shaking, wet face. He couldn't stop the trembling as the ocean wave of hell washed over him and every cobbled together defense collapsed. Shaking and sick, he stared for the first time at the wan, paled face in the mirror and cringed, before he shut his eyes.

He felt himself slithering downward, barely noted the feel of tile against his thighs, the hard, cold wall propping up his slack limbs.  
And then, Seto Kaiba wept.

For the ten year old he recalled, who lay sprawled in the puddle of his own vomit, his lips still burning with the aftermath of vodka and a bottle plunged down his throat.

For the fractured childhood, puncutated by fear, and bruises, held in the hands of a depraved man who taught him the true meaning of hell.

For the headful of memories, blurred to sepia where the lines of crystal-sharp moments were mercifully smeared by another sip of wine.

For the dark-eyed, little brother at home, who always believed the best of his big brother, and gave Seto a hope that he might be that man some day.

For the dark night on a ribbon of road, where his own car had nearly severed Yami's existance, and left in its wake the mess of broken flesh, scars, tears, and screams for absolution none but God could give.

And, most of all, for the withered, crippled soul, sobbing on the concrete floor, with no comfort but the shadows and regrets and possibility that he might yet be redeemed.

The silence was overwhelming, the bathroom had somehow taken on the air of the grave. Seto lay a tired palm on the tile and rose on his shaking feet to scowl at his face. He took a paper towel, wet it, and attempted to scrub away all traces of his crying.  
He looked like hell, as he studied the face in the mirror. His eyes were blood-shot, and weary, his hair longer and unkempt. Gone was the smugness, the arrogance. Now, there was nothing but that worn gravity that had altered everything he knew.

God help him, it had to get better. 


	31. Catharsis

The pen in Seto's hand trembled, as he finally set it down and scowled at the letters. His therapist was concerned about his "daddy issues"-as Seto labeled it, and suggested that he write a letter to his dead adoptive father. Seto sighed, feeling drained and surprisingly scarred from the purge. Strange...he thought that he was doing nothing more than reopening an old wound, but found a bit of solace in his writing. It was somehow clarifying, to get the nagging thoughts from his head into something tangible.

Uneasily, he unbuttoned his long sleeve and stared at the minute slivers of scars that adorned the inside of his right arm. Granted,  
they were barely visable-delicate as etchings on a glass, but he loathed them. Memories of hell crawled back, and, as usual, he vanquished them with a choked down swallow. If he couldn't even write a damn letter without tensing and tearing up, what hope di he have of making it?

Gritting his teeth, Seto rammed the pen like a harpoon through the letter and stared at his shaking hand. He was bewildered and sickened that Gozoburo was still capable of inflicting so much damage. It didn't matter if the bastard had been dead and buried for years now. The monster still lived on, through Seto's torture. Rather than the physical abuse, Gozoboro simply erroded his adopted son's soul from the inside.

How very fitting. Gozoboro would certainly be proud of his handiwork. Being a drunk only gave rise to the bastard's true nature that much faster, and Seto long learned to cringe at the sound of a wine bottle being uncorked.

And then, Seto snarled at himself. True, Seto had never deliberately set out to hurt anybody else. But even Gozoboro, in his most inebriated glory, had enough sense to at least keep his drinking hidden.

If anything, his dearly departed father would only say that he may have been a sadistic bastard, but Seto was the stupid one.

Seto ran his finger over the scars. That had been after a particularly nasty episode that began with Gozoboro sipping scotch,  
and ended with Gozoboro shoving his 15 year old son into the glass doors of the liquor cabinate. The glass had fragmented when Seto instinctively braced himself and wound up putting his arm through the door. The shards had carved his skin, the blood was hot and dribbling from his shaking hands as Gozoboro only cursed and tossed him a towel. Gozoboro was furious at the possibility of Seto's blood marring the pristine white carpet. Numbly, Seto only wrapped his arm up, and lurched to the bathroom where he washed away the blood and picked out as many glass fragments as he was a perverse mercy that he did not need stitches. He had bandaged his own arm and was careful to wear a long sleeved shirt to conceal the wounds from Mokuba. He remembered seeing the scarlet being rinsed away and staring down at his arm, dully amazed that so much blood could come from the minor wounds.

The few scars that resulted were little more than a spider web pattern from his knuckle to his elbow...nothing more than a few dark erratic lines that were only visible if somebody had the chance to examine his arm. Seto knew that they were small, and easily unnoticed to the rest of the world. Seto hated them. He couldn't stand them.  
Bitterly, Seto resumed his writing.

I didn't start this letter with any sort of salutation, because "sadistic bastard" seemed to be a bit much, and I won't debase myself with writing your name after "dear." Even after all of these years, even after I stood by your corpse, and was the one to shut the casket...even after I stood by the grave as they lowered you in, you're still here. Hell, you never left. What a sad, sick legacy, to live on in the scars and the memories of your own "adopted son." You could have rescued me from so much anguish. You could have been nothing less than deliverance from heaven, when you gave me your last name and legally made me your child. Or, you could have been merciful, and left us alone. Maybe I would have been adopted by a family who gave a damn enough to love their kids.  
Maybe I would have just aged out of the system and found my way, somehow. Maybe I would have been a statistic. God only knows. You even denied me that chance.

When you first took me and Mokuba out of the orphanage, I was still naive enough to think you as heroic. Who else but a hero would trouble themselves to take responsibility for two scared little boys? What motivation would somebody have for bearing that burden besides love and compassion for two helpless children? You know what the pathetic thing is? I loved you. You get that? I loved you.

I guess the truly sad thing is that I honestly thought at one point, you'd reciprocate. That you'd take a child's faith and trust in you and treat it as the gift and responsilibility it is, instead of the chance to fracture that kid and reforge him into a monster. At first, I honestly thought that I was the one to blame for the cruelty. I remember the first bruise with so much brutal clarity, how you grabbed me by my shirt collar, hoisted me into the air, and snarled out that I was an embarrassment, a disappointment, a failure.  
I guess I didn't cringe appropriately, because you literally hammered that point into me with a few well placed hits to my ribs. I was only nine. That was the moment that I learned two things from you: that you were truly worthy of my hatred, and that I was never going to be like you. I've kept that first promise all too well. Even after you've finally, mercifully departed, I still hate you as much now as I did when I saw you buried. And the sad thing is, you still live on. You live on, in my hatred, in my misery, in my anguish.

And you know what's killing me now? It's facing myself, my sins, my mistakes. It's knowing no matter how much I wish to God this was your fault, it isn't. You set me on the path. You gave me a reason. But, I was the one who made the choice. I let you forge me into becoming a monster. And now, here I am, not even out of my twenties yet, a full blown drunk, with a criminal conviction, a stint in rehab, and the life-long guilt in knowing that I almost killed a man. Hell, I didn't just nearly kill him, I left him with enough injuries and nightmares to make me ashamed of the fact that I walked away, and he can't. If that's not the definition of hell for me, I don't know what is. If there is one ironic bit of redemption in all of this, it's this guilt and anguish. If I were a heartless bastard, I wouldn't have them.

Maybe this letter is just my sordid attempt to get some clarity. Maybe, after seeing ink and honesty spilled out on these pages, I'll be able to admit to myself that I'm the one who has the responsibility of dealing with your aftermath. Or, maybe this is just the last shovelful of dirt to finally lay this to rest. I suppose, I should thank you for the one good lesson I learned from you. You gave me a shining example of who I never want to become. You taught me exactly how not to live. And, if, at the end of all of this, I somehow emerge with my life intact, I'll not squander this second chance.

Your son.

Seto. 


	32. Confrontation

The Edge of Silence-

It was both an impulsive decision, and a long-drawn out process that Yami never admitted to. He had called the New Horizons Rehab, gotten their visiting hours, and even charmed out the answer as to when Seto would most likely be available. Seto's discharge date was only a week away, and Yami felt his gut clench at the idea of Seto being neatly released, no harm, no foul. It made him nearly sick with rage, as he held the trembling phone in his palm. He forced his fingers to uncurl put the phone back before he flung it and broke it.

Eyes narrowing, Yami glared at the wallclock. Grandpa and Yugi were at the Shop, idling away the afternoon. They would be gone for several hours. Decision made, Yami hefted himself upright, took a moment to balance and hobbled towards his bedroom, to shower and dress. Tucking the crutch under his good arm, he half-stepped,  
half-hopped his way through the house. His busted calf fracture was now safely enclosed in the boot cast, which helped his mobility greatly. He had healed enough to set the foot on the floor and would be walking normally once the bone healed completely. His broken wrist was still in the plaster cast, but he was rapidly regaining the full use of his fingers. He could write, pick up a fork, clasp things. The return of normalacy was achingly slow, but, thank God, it was finally coming. He was certainly not healed, but he was no longer so broken.

The sunlight spilled over the concrete as he eased himself out of the house, and began the long walk down to the bus station. It was only two blocks away, but Yami wanted to make sure that he had enough time to rest if he needed, and enjoy the rare peace of being alone. He loved Yugi and Solomon fiercely. But the weeks of his gently tolerating the protective hoverings and concern and restrictions went from loving acceptance, to irritation, to unbearable. If he didn't have a few moments to himself,  
away from their benign shackles, he would go crazy.

He knew that Yugi and Solomon would never allow him a few hours of independence. The image of him-broken, bruised, and sobbing in pain still haunted them.  
Solomon never spoke directly about the accident, and Yugi was far too brittle and scraped raw to even broach the subject. So, Yami swallowed back the whole thing,  
gently concealed his anguish with a serene, well-practiced smile, and tried and failed daily to pretend that he hadn't almost died.

No...pain that ran that deep, and hurt that still crippled that much deserved a target. He wouldn't errupt at Yugi. He wouldn't snap at Solomon. No, he'd simply hurl the knives at both the cause and witness to that horrible night.

Seto Kaiba.

Yami rarely allowed himself to dwell on his hatred, his agony, his helplessness at the situation. He had tried and failed nobly, to move on, and simply focus on healing.  
But, it wasn't over, and Yami wasn't really sure if it ever would be.

The bus pulled around the corner, the doors slid open, as Yami paid his fare. Gritting his teeth, he dragged the broken half of his body in line with the functioning parts,  
and almost fell into the seat. He straightened himself, and pulled the crutch out of the aisle. He didn't need anybody tripping on it.

He stared out at the city, watching the people wondering through the streets like ants. As the miles slid by, his nagging doubt about going to see Seto flared for a moment.  
And then, Yami raised a palm to his forehead. He felt the faint line made from stitches over his scalp, the strange, savage angle of his nose where it had been broken.  
In truth, the bruising, swelling and dicoloration were far more noticiable than the slightly off angle of the bridge. He certainly wasn't deformed, and he refused more surgery to fix what was hardly noticable to the rest of the world. But, to look at his own face, the altered reflection, even if the difference was far more in his imagination, was at times, unbearable.

The ride was far too short. Yami rose, hobbled down the steps, and stood staring. The New Horizons Rehabilitation Center, despite the cheery name, was little more thna a concrete, box like building, with drab, empty windows, and the air of a tomb. Craning his neck, he saw that the wings of the building spiraled back behind, like a prison.  
If Yami felt this uneasy just viewing the outside, he could hardly imagine what spending nearly a month and a half would do to a person. He glared at his scars and squelched the insane swell of pity. Seto deserved his contempt, not his comfort.

Swallowing hard, and scraping his resolve, Yami glared at the stairs, and started his slow, lurching walk. He fumbled up the steps, fumbled with the heavy glass door,  
walked past the gray, tiled lobby with its cheap plastic chairs. He paused to catch his breath, and grimace at the growing ache in his leg.

Even with his bruises, he was apparently charming, or convincing enough to be admitted by the beaming secretary. She gave him a bright smile as she glanced at his identification and simply waved him through.  
He scowled at the hallways that branched off in all directions and gave no indication of where they went. He puased to chat with with a harrassed looking tech, who quickly barked out the direction to the Adult Substance Abuse Unit.

Yami stared at the bland entry way, where several charge nurses sat scribbling in thick binders, or boredly glancing up at the patients. Several techs were scurrying around,  
and the few patients Yami could see were either comfortably lounging, or had the air of cowed sloth. The hopelessness nearly permiated the walls.

Yami made his way to the most distracted charge nurse, where he politely asked to speak to Seto. She narrowed her eyes at him, and waved him to the common area.  
"It's recreation time in the day room. If he's out of his room, and not in lockdown, he'll be there."

Lockdown? What sort of place...Yami shivered inwardly. It mattered little. He had done nothing to put Seto in the place.

Warily, Yami hobbled to the large day room, where a tv glared from a high, bolted shelf, and a PG movie played. A few patients played cards, read magazines, or stared longingly at the world outside.

And then, he saw Seto. There was only the second or so before Seto must have felt his glare searing over his back, because he lurched, startled. Seto stood up so fast from the chair that the thing nearly toppled. Seto stared at him, wide-eyed and looking nearly sick.

Seto came over, crossed the distance between them, and halted abruptly, as if expecting to be hit.

"Yami." A whisper of disbelief as Seto swallowed hard, and forced himself to continue.

It was almost a plea as Yami gave him a look of surprise.

Yami thought that he would have relished that wilted, miserable shock .He had assumed that he would have rejoiced at seeing Seto crumble into disbelief, the way he stiffened and cringed against the concrete wall. Yami watched as Seto shut his eyes, and drew a deep breath. Swallowing hard, he managed to cobble together his self-pocession with admirable speed.

"I would like to speak to you." Yami's tone was almost glacial, as he narrowed his eyes to gage Seto's reaction. Seto stiffened, and gave the empty room a wary glance.

He nodded, and said, quietly, "Let me go speak to the charge nurse, please. There's a place a bit less public."

"I don't give a damn about your image, Seto. I'm not here for your benefit." Yami's words were as sharp and unexpected as a whiplash. Seto accepted the blow,  
and made no attempt to defend himself.

"I'm not trying to mitigate or dodge responsibility, Yami. But, if you do intend to scream at me, you can't do it here. They'll be holding group therapy here in a few minutes."

Seto gestured helplessly towards the day schedule at the wall. Yami was somehow not suprised that Seto was telling the truth.

At Yami's glare, Seto only gave him a tired shrug. "I've already done more than enough to tarnish my image for life, Yami, as you well know. Do you prefer to eviserate me here?"

Seto waited for the answer, as Yami curtly shook his head. "Go speak to the charge nurse, then."  
Giving Yami a troubled glance, Seto exited and reappeared within a span a few minutes.

"Follow me." Seto said quietly, as he strode out. To Yami's surprise, he peered over his shoulder and slowed so Yami could keep pace. Incensed, and embarrassed, Yami hobbled along as fast as he could, relishing the wince of guilt across Seto's face.

Seto abruptly halted and pivoted into the doorway, before stepping aside to allow Yami entrance. It was an ugly, beige room, poorly lit, and only furnished with a long,  
narrow table, and two wooden chairs.

Crossing his arms, and pressing his spine against the wall, as if to keep standing, Seto turned to Yami, eying him like a hunted animal.

"Why are you here, Yami?" Seto slid his eyes to Yami, rigidly waiting for the painful answer.

Yami exhaled, and answered, quietly, "I want to know more about the night you almost killed me."

Seto winced, and shut his eyes. He looked weary with the regret, but somehow, not surprised. "Fine, then. Go ahead and ask."

Yami narrowed his eyes. "How many times have you driven intoxicated?"

Seto scrubbed at his forehead. "Aside from that night?None."

Yami flinched in surprise as Seto sighed, and shook his head. "What I did was horrific and stupid. I won't deny that. But, I have no history of this,  
I never had so much as a parking violation."

Yami shook his head, considering that surprising information as Seto wearily splayed his palms. "I know it makes no difference in what happened to you, Yami. But, I swear to you. This was far more a sick lack of judgement and stupidity than it ever was a deliberate attempt to hurt anybody."

"You are right, Seto. It makes no difference."


	33. Polarity

"You are correct, Seto. It makes no difference."

Yami allowed the words to linger, as Seto only shut his eyes and nodded. Yami watched with surprisingly little satisfaction to see Seto wither miserably under his unflinching gaze. There was only that frail silence between them. Yami waited for Seto to shatter it with a defense, a reason, anything but this pathetic surrender.

"I have no excuse, Yami. I never said that I did. I have never made any attempt to shorten my time here, or leave prematurely. " Seto halted when Yami narrowed his eyes and shook his head, curtly.

"Do you sincerely believe that this is _enough,_ Seto?"

"No." Seto whispered, bitterly. "If the situation were reversed, I wouldn't be satisfied until you had every bone broken. And even then-"

Seto choked, before continuing, "Even then, it would never be enough. How in the hell could it be?"

Yami's low, brittle chuckle was like hearing glass broken. "So, you are beginning to see why I'm angry."

Seto wrenched his head upward, the defiance flaring and dying in the same moment.

"Beginning to see….Yami, what in the _hell _do you want me to say? I'm sorry! I'm sorry that I did this to you! I'd take it back if I could, but I _can't, damn it!"_

Seto's voice trailed off as he shrugged helplessly and slumped. "_I can't."_

Yami merely narrowed his eyes as Seto rubbed a tired hand to his aching forehead. The headache he had all day was now viciously pounding behind his eyes from the sudden burst of emotions.

Exhaling through his clenched teeth, Seto continued, "Believe it or not, the _last _thing on my mind that night was hurting you, or anybody else. Forgive me for pointing out the blatantly obvious, but I was very intoxicated and not _thinking_ at all. I _wasn't_ thinking of plowing my car into yours. I _wasn't _ thinking of hurting you. The worst moment of my life was sitting in that cop car and wondering if I had killed somebody. Please believe me when I tell you this, Yami. I_ never meant for this to happen."_

Seto drew a shaking breath and folded his arms across his chest, bowing his head as if waiting for the ax.

" The worst moments of _your _ life?" Yami snarled.

Seto flinched as Yami clapped a hand against the table, anguished and enraged. " I _nearly died!"_ Yami hurled the words at Seto, relishing every agonized twitch. Yami breathed out a strangled breath, shut his eyes and curled his good hand against his rib cage to slow his breathing. Exhaling after his heart had stopped its shuddering beat, he finally raised his eyes to Seto.

"You have absolutely no idea what you have done to me, do you?" Yami said quietly with a growing, pensive scowl.

Seto blinked back tears. "I nearly killed you. What more is there _to_ understand?"

"Plenty." Yami groused.

Sighing heavily, Yami shifted the crutch and hobbled towards the table. He winced as he tried to pull the chair out with his good arm. Seto lurched up from his slump, hands automatically extended to offer help. That hand fell helplessly back to his side as Yami only glared at him in silent warning.

Yami arranged himself into the chair, grimacing as the plastic dug into his sore spine. Scowling up as Seto, he gestured towards the empty chair across the table.

Seto arched an eyebrow, but silently seated himself. Now facing Yami, he forced his fingers to stop digging into his knees, and he calmly folded both arms across his chest. Internally, he was trembling.

Yami watched Seto give him a helpless glance for direction, before his lips folded against his teeth in the effort to avoid speaking.

"_I _don't understand." Yami snapped. He narrowed his eyes and looked at the abysmal gray walls around them.

Seto grimaced and spat, "That makes two of us. Why did you come here, anyway? I thought that you hated the sight of me."

Yami's eyes slid towards his, and he said, quietly, but sternly, "I don't hate you."

Seto stared down at him, stunned into silence. His lip twisted as he finally, bitterly answered, "You should. It would be logical."

"But not easier." Yami's icy glare minutely softened, as he leaned back. "Seto, I have several questions about that night, questions that only you can answer. That is why I came."

Seto tensed as if expecting a blow. Exhaling, he reluctantly answered. "Ask , then. I give you my word I will answer to the best of my ability. But, Yami, that's all I can do. Got it?"

Yami nodded. After pausing a few moments to gather his thoughts, he watched as Seto clenched his arms to his side, as if facing a firing squad. Yami squelched the tendril of pity suddenly flowering in his gut. In every other encounter before that night, Seto had been clad in his fine suits, polished shoes, those damn trench coats. He had reeked defiance and good taste.

Now, the illustrious Seto Kaiba was hunched over in a plastic chair, with tears threatening to spill down, wearing dark blue sweats, and cowering like an animal. Uneasily, Yami looked at the gray walls again. Could guilt leave Seto this shattered wreck?

"You keep revisiting the theme that the wreck was a temporary lapse of judgment."

Seto looked up warily, as Yami continued.

"Seto, I want to know what happened that night. Everything from the moment you drank to the moment you hit my car. I want to hear all of it. Now."

Seto narrowed his eyes, and shrugged. "I gave you my word, and I intend to keep it."

Sighing, he ran a finger over his shaking knuckles, uncertainly. How in the hell did he begin?

"Understand,Yami, that this is not easy for me to explain, because I can barely understand some aspects myself. Being in treatment has given me deeper insight, and the ability to put labels on the problem but I'm still struggling to define it myself."

Yami raised an eyebrow. "Try, Seto. I need to hear this."

"To put it bluntly, apparently, I'm little more than a high functioning drunk."

Yami 's eyes widened, as Seto nodded bitterly. "Yes, Yami. I'm an alcoholic. And nobody is more surprised or sickened by it than I am. Maybe it would be beneficial to you to hear the whole story of how in the hell this happened."

And slowly, brutally, Seto unraveled the years that he rarely spoke of. He told Yami of the business parties where wine served as a lubricant to social gatherings at his adoptive father's many, many meetings. Seto spoke of the mysterious power of wine, how Gozoboro would laugh and smile and mingle with his poise and charm, and how in those rare moments, Gozoboro would hold his eldest son and tell him he made him proud.

And then Seto spoke of the tarnished side of the coin, where Gozoboro would hole up like an animal in his den, how Seto would start trembling with fear when he heard the bottle uncork. Seto spoke of the times he held Mokuba to his chest as they cowered behind closed doors when Gozoboro would lumber through the house, shrieking and stumbling. Seto told of the first time that Gozoboro had hit him, and all the beatings that followed. He had been sober, then. Seto also spoke of the horrible time that Gozoboro had forced the wine down his throat as a ten year old, how he spent the night curled up in the bathroom vomiting, and wondering if he were dying. When he saw Yami pale in horror, Seto shrugged and spat, "I was ten, Yami. How in the hell was I supposed to know what it was like to be drunk or hungover?"

"If you hated it that much, how in the world did you become an alcoholic?" Yami snarled back.

There was only that seething silence that had fallen between them again.

(Should I revive this story?)


	34. In One Moment

"If you hated it that much, how in the world did you become an alcoholic?" Yami snarled back."If drinking made your adoptive father the monster you claim him to be, why did you ever start drinking at all?" Yami spat.

There was only that seething silence that had fallen between them again, before Seto wearily answered, "Face it, Yami. There's absolutely no reason I can give you that will give you a satisfactory answer."

Yami narrowed his eyes. "You were forcibly intoxicated at ten, and your adoptive father would beat you when he drank too much, so you can hardly plead ignorance in not knowing what alcohol would do."

Seto ground out, "I never attempted that, either."

Yami stared at him, the suspicion glittering in his eyes, as he raised an eyebrow. "Is this hellish childhood you've just divulged a fairytale you've concocted in order to garner sympathy?"

Seto paled and gave Yami such a look of anguished rage that Yami feared he'd explode or take a swing at him.

"I'm not lying to you." Seto hissed.

Yami blanched as Seto shot to his feet so fast that the chair rolled away and slammed into the wall behind him.

"What I did was inexcusable, Yami. I'm not going to deny that or pretend otherwise. You wanted to know how this happened, and I gave you my answer. You can hate me, God knows I deserve that. But don't you _dare come in here and accuse me of lying about what that bastard did to me."_

Struggling to regain his fractured self-control, Seto exhaled through his clenched teeth. He took a few more calming breaths until the anger had mercifully faded into a more manageable level of dull anguish.

"I went through Hell once, Yami. Excuse me if it's not so wonderful to discover that I've apparently returned there."

"Is it as awful as the hell you've put me through over these last few months?" Yami asked, bitterly.

Both flinched in surprise at the almost timid knock on the door, as a timid, mousy tech shoved her face through.

She looked at Seto, clearly worried, and asked, "Mr. Kaiba? Is everything alright?"

His eyes slid to hers. "Fine." He shook his head and whispered, hoarsely, "Everything is fine. I'm sorry for disturbing the ward. It won't happen again."

The tech shifted her suspicious gaze to Yami, who offered an apologetic shrug,and a forced smile. "Please accept my apologies, miss. This was my fault. I did not know that the sound carried so well in this room."

She raised an eyebrow to Yami, before turning to Seto. "Mr. Kaiba, I was sent to remind you that your visiting time is almost up. I'll come and get you when it's over."

"Thank you for letting me know." Seto said,curtly. The tech exited the room, leaving Yami and Seto back to resume the tortured conversation.

Seto wilted against the wall, cobbling together the last scraps of his resolve to not bolt, spew, or yell. Yami drummed his fingers against the metal table, heedless of the dull thud and everything else but his own bitterness.

After a long, broiling silence, Yami sighed in disgust. "I'm expecting too much of you. If you knew the answers, you wouldn't have wound up _here."_

Seto blinked, and slowly shook his head.

"No." Seto breathed out the negation. "No." He swallowed again, forcing out the words. "I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't have done this to you. You're right about that."

Shifting uneasily, Seto tilted his head towards Yami and peered at him, guarded, and wary. "You wanted answers. I owe you that, but damn it-" Seto glared at Yami. "I can't give you any answers until you shut the hell up for five minutes and listen. You can hate me all you want, but can you at least keep your mouth shut long enough for me to get through this?"

Yami gave him a curt nod. Seto gave him a bitter, broken smirk. "Thank you so much." His sarcasm faltered miserably, and Yami let it pass without comment.

Seto's glare softened minutely before he sat back with another sigh. "As I said, before, Yami, I never meant for this to happen. I didn't divulge my childhood with the intentions of stirring up pity or trying to excuse myself from responsibility. I was trying to give you a reference and a context as to how this happened. Apparently, I have failed."

Yami's scowl deepened, as he snapped, "Explain to me how this-" He tapped his crutch against his boot cast, gently_, "happened_. How you did this, what you were thinking, how you got _here."_

Seto swallowed hard, and Yami mercifully did not comment about the slight tremor in his voice.

Seto heaved out a shaking breath. "That night of the wreck-"

"That night when you almost killed me." Yami snapped.

Seto sighed, his bitter patience nearly frayed beyond endurance. "You seem to be under the impression that I frequently drive intoxicated and routinely do things this stupid. I give you my word that nothing could be further than the truth. On that night that I hit your car...I was working late. Some idiot had screwed up a key component in designing a prototype for KaibaCorps, and I was attempting to correct the fool's mistakes. That, in and of itself, was not unusual. I will confess that it was also not out of the question for me to have a bit of wine in those stressful situations. That night was going to be a very long one. I had far too much to do, to correct, and far too little time to do it all. In light of that, I made the very stupid and spontaneous decision to make myself something a bit stouter than my usual wine. Understand this. I never drank to deliberately get intoxicated. I was never falling down drunk, and while I cannot deny that I was drinking, I honestly thought I was merely "buzzed," as they call it here. I planned on staying there at the office for the night, and resuming the morning's business the next day. But then, Mokuba called me."

Seto scrubbed his forehead, and tried to stop the damn shaking. "He was in tears. Worried that I hadn't come home, upset that I was spending another night at the office, and pleading with me to come home that night, right then."

Seto swallowed hard, and Yami hid the wince when he saw that ravaged anguish in Seto's eyes, his voice. "Had it been anybody else in the world but Mokuba, I would have ignored it, and stayed in my office. Had I known that _this would have happened-" _Seto flung a hand up to encompass the concrete walls, the dull grey light, Yami's cast.

"You and I wouldn't be sitting here, having this conversation now." Yami finished, quietly.

Seto grimaced. "No. We wouldn't. And this conversation shouldn't be happening at all. As I said…it was late. I was more than tired, I was exhausted, and, yes, foolish. As I mentioned before, I had ventured into the stronger drink that night, and I thought that the effects and the risk would have been minimal, if any. I wasn't falling over drunk. I _never_ let myself get to that point, and since I wasn't exhibiting any of the typical symptoms of being a damn drunk, I had no reason to believe otherwise. Obviously…I was wrong."

Seto clutched at his sleeves, dug his fingers into the fabric, scraped the cloth against his palms. Above his head, the clock ticked, and the only sound was Yami's sudden lurch forward on his elbows. Yami tensed, as if expecting a blow, and his words were as thin as fraying rope.

"And then?"

Seto clenched his hands against his sides, hunched over, and looked nearly sick.

"I was coming down the curve. The highway was mostly empty, not many drivers were out that late. I remember that much. And for one moment…" Seto raised a shaking hand, and pinched his temples. "For one moment, I looked down at the time, to see if I should call Mokuba and tell him I was on my way. That was all it took…one stupid moment, Yami. I saw your car, panicked, swerved, and tried to keep the wreck from happening. It was the worst thing I could have done. In that moment...I felt my car slam into yours. I heard the windshield bust, I felt my car skid around, and the screech of the tires. I slammed on the brakes, hard, but it didn't do a damn bit of good. I couldn't stop the car. I couldn't do anything. And I could only watch, as my car collided with yours, and I could do nothing about it. Nothing at all. Nothing when your car rolled over down that hillside, and landed upside down. I skittered to a stop right before my own vehicle would have followed yours. My hands were shaking so badly that I could barely dial my cell phone for help. And I could only stare down at the wreck , wondering if I had just killed somebody. One moment, Yami. That was all it took for this to happen."


	35. Think On Your Sins

"And I could only stare down at the wreck , wondering if I had just killed somebody. One moment, Yami. That was all it took for this to happen."

There was nothing but silence, broken only by Seto's sudden gulping pant for breath. The words were strangled in his throat, he was barely aware that his fingers were clawing aimlessly at the corners of the table. The sick thud of metal colliding, the screech of Seto's tires, that moment when the car he had just hit slid over pavement and right off the side of the hill. Breaking glass, the roar as the car tumbled down and halted only after landing upside down. Seto was nearly sick from the intrusive, unwanted flashback.

"And?" Yami's curt, sudden question sliced through the torpor, and dumped Seto back into the white room. He gasped like a drowning man finally inhaling air.

"What?" Seto swallowed, hating the bewildered, soft tone of his voice. Swallowing again, he shook his head to clear it.

Yami sat rigidly in the chair, nearly propped up on his elbows and will alone, as he only narrowed his eyes.

"After the accident, Seto." Yami supplied, acidly. "What did you do after that?"

Seto hitched his shoulders, not knowing either the question or the answer.

" What more do you want to know? I don't-" Seto faltered.

Yami interrupted with a snarl,_"_What about the _next_ moment, Seto? Did you make _any_ attempt to save me, or at least trouble yourself to look if I had lived?"

Yami raised those hard, questioning eyes to Seto, who clamped his jaw shut.

Seto had been through hell that night, yes, but he deserved every shard of anguish being shoved through his very soul. He at least owed Yami the complete story. With that pathetic attempt at atonement, Seto wrenched his gaze from studying the table between himself and Yami.

Seto ignored Yami's glare, the seething, the unanswered questions, as he steadied himself to answer what he himself could not explain.

"It never crossed my mind." He said quietly, exhaling the breath through his clenched his teeth. Scraping up the last bit of his crumbling self-control, Seto forced himself to continue.

"It wasn't because I didn't care…it was because I honestly didn't know _what_ to think, let alone know what to do .I was in a considerable amount of shock, and I was barely able to comprehend that I had caused a potentially fatal wreck. It was too sudden, too unexpected, and too fast for me to even reconcile myself to the fact that I was responsible. Hell, it's taken me several weeks in rehab to even admit that I am an alcoholic. I'm not asking you to understand. But, the truth is, on that night, the moments after the wreck, I was in no shape to really ponder any implications of my mistakes until I was somewhat sober and alert in the jail cell. And that was hours later. "

Yami's eyes narrowed. "You were arrested?"

Seto glared down at the table, mouth twisting, before he finally answered in a frayed, taut voice, "I was."

Yami's hardened resolve to hate softened, like melting ice, as he tilted his head. "And when did you learn what you did to me?"

Seto shut his eyes, and blinked back the sudden tears. He waited for the blur to go away before he dared continue. Quietly anguished, he forced the words out. "I didn't. Not until the next morning, and even then I didn't_ know_ anything at all. Not at first. All I truly knew at the time was that I had hit a car, and caused a roll-over. I saw your vehicle tumble down the hillside, and land upside down in that ditch. I had no way of knowing if I had just injured or killed somebody. I had no way of knowing if I would be watching a dead body being pulled from the wreck, if I had crippled somebody for life, if I had wiped out a family. I was handcuffed and driven off to jail before the ambulance arrived. And it wasn't as if the officers were that concerned about easing my conscience. Nobody told me anything at all until Roland came to bail me out the next morning. And it was only then that I learned that I had not only hit _you,_ but that I had put you in the hospital, in stable, but serious condition. Is this helping you at all?" Seto asked wearily.

"That is yet to be determined_._" Yami said, quietly. "Besides, you owe me far more than answers. Unfortunately, this will have to suffice."

"How is this supposed to bring you closure? Are you even hearing yourself?" Seto scowled as he sat back, and folded his arms.

"What _were_ you expecting from this conversation, anyway? It would have been much easier if you just stuck with hating me, instead of trying to 'understand' why this happened. I never intended for this to happen at all. I would take it back if I could, and I don't know how to make any of this right. Whether or not you believe that or not is your decision. But, let's get something straight, Yami. You don't want answers. You want a crucifixion. If you had your way, you'd probably have me shoved into a car and set on fire before you'd consider me punished enough for you to move on. I can't say that I blame you on that, but don't ask me all of these questions and expect the answers to somehow change anything. They don't. Believe me, I've spent enough time learning that lesson."

That bitter, loaded silence had entered the inches between them, as Seto sat back, seething, and Yami only stared down at his boot cast.

"Your death would solve nothing. And I wouldn't wish what I've endured on anybody. Not even you, Seto."

Seto lurched in surprise at the sudden admission. "Why not? Because I wouldn't have suffered enough?"

Yami lifted his wrist brace, and seemed to study it with an odd intensity for a moment before he carefully folded his arms across his chest.

"Because making you suffer does nothing to end mine. Breaking your bones won't heal mine any faster. No amount of your guilt can force my forgiveness, any more than my wishful thinking can turn back time. The events over these last few months has been hell…for both of us." Yami said, wearily.


	36. Dislocation

That bitter, loaded silence had entered the inches between them, as Seto sat back, seething.

Yami only stared down at his boot cast, running his good hand over the straps, before he finally answered, quietly, "Your death would solve nothing. And I wouldn't wish what I've endured on anybody. Not even you, Seto."

Seto narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and bit out, "Why not? Because I wouldn't have suffered enough?"

Yami lifted his wrist brace, and seemed to study it with an odd intensity for a moment before he lowered it to rest on his good knee.

"Because making you suffer does nothing to end mine. Breaking your bones won't heal mine any faster. No amount of your guilt can force my forgiveness, any more than my wishful thinking can turn back time. The events over these last few months has been hell…for both of us." Yami said, wearily.

"Only I'm responsible for both. Don't tell me you've forgotten that." Seto snapped.

"I'll never forget that." Yami nearly snarled, as Seto finally allowed himself to slump a bit in relief. He preferred the far more familiar theme of Yami's well-deserved hatred and simple dismissal of him being a bastard far more than this tortured introspection. What did Yami possibly have to gain by rehashing Seto's searingly obvious guilt?

"Neither will I. Not that it's worth anything." Yami merely raised an eyebrow in mild surprise, but remained silent, and left his agreement unspoken.

Seto inwardly sighed as he gave a longing glance to the clock. The hour had already passed, and yet there was no end in sight. He debated briefly getting a tech to take him back to his room, but rejected it just as quickly.

What was the point? This was yet another endless circle that would always tighten the noose a bit more. How many times had he rehashed regrets, in his own head, in group therapy, with his little brother, in the silence when he stared at the gray walls….and it didn't make any difference.

Seto was damn sick of the whole thing. Seeing Yami melt into his martyr's pose was almost too much.

Distance, absolution, a miracle that could turn back time. One damn decision to stay sober on that horrific night. Some sort of balm that Seto could snatch from heaven, sprinkle on this situation, and dissolve all wounds, and erase all memories. If Seto could have offered it to Yami, he would have. The regret that had been a dull ache in his gut suddenly clenched, and erupted into bitterly cleansing anger.

"What in the _hell_ is wrong with you?!" Seto suddenly exploded.

Yami's features twisted, as Seto shot from his chair.

"I nearly_ killed_ you. I broke your bones, sent you to the hospital, wrecked your health, and all because I acted like a selfish, thoughtless bastard! Don't you dare act like a damn martyr about this! _Don't you f-ing dare!"_

"A martyr _has a choice."_ Yami snapped. "A martyr chooses to suffer for something noble, Seto, something higher and better and far more worthy than simply _being the victim of a drunk driver._"

Yami exhaled a sharp breath. "_A martyr_ forgives the one who injures them."

"And…" Yami raised those seething eyes to Seto, as he softly snarled, "A martyr _dies."_

It took all of Seto's considerable self-control not to tremble more than he already was. His voice was as frayed as a taut noose as he whispered, hoarsely.

"I know how close I came to killing you." He shook his head. "I know that I've wrecked my life, and that even after I leave here, I'll forever be branded as the bastard who almost did away with Yami Moto. I know that there are several people who are disappointed that I didn't die in the wreck. I'll spend a lifetime doing penance for this one brutal act. I'll never be forgiven, or absolved from this. And it doesn't matter if anybody else remembers what I did, Yami, because _I'll_ know."

He gave Yami a brittle smirk, and a chuckle that sounded like breaking glass. "Did you really think I'd be free of this just because I'll be leaving rehab?"

Yami raised an eyebrow.

"Given the fact that you avoided a jail sentence, I would think that you'd be grateful for the mercy of a second chance."

"You think I've gotten a second chance? As I've said, I'll never be forgiven for this. When I leave here, I'll just be trading one prison for another." Seto retorted bitterly.

"What do you think it would have done to Mokuba if you had killed yourself in the wreck? I would hope that you would consider rehab to be a better outcome than the grave. What sort of legacy would you leave him then?"

Seto glared at him, his eyes suspiciously bright for a moment before his hand shot up and he scrubbed his fingers furiously against his eyelids.

Yami leaned back. "Considering all possible outcomes, you could have killed _us both_."

"Maybe you can take some solace in knowing that I'll be living with that knowledge every day for the rest of my life. Is any of this making you feel better?" Seto asked, quietly.

Yami folded his good arm over the sling, with a dismissing shake of his head. "I've spent the last few months relearning how to walk, and use my hand, Seto. I've been preoccupied with far more than how you _feel_ about this situation."

"You certainly seem preoccupied with it now." Seto answered, curtly. Yami glanced at the clock, and scowled to see the time. Hoisting himself to his feet, he ignored Seto's barely concealed relief to have the interrogation over with.

After arranging his crutch to accommodate his weight,Yami turned to look at him. Seto was slumped over the table, fingers uneasily clutching the sleeves of his sweat shirt, clearly waiting to be set free.

"Seto."

Seto's eyes slid towards his, pensive and waiting.

Yami paused, as he clenched the fingers in his good hand into a fist.

"As I have said before, no amount of guilt and regret will change what you've done to me. When I was laying in that hospital bed, when I was undergoing surgery, or waiting to recover, I had a lot of time to think about what would happen when I saw you again."

Seto grimaced. "And?"

"There is one thing that you can do for me."

"And that would be?"

Yami's bitter smile curled as he waved his good hand over the concrete walls. "Get sober, and do whatever you have to do to make sure you never put another person through the hell I've lived through."

Yami ignored Seto's huge eyes as he rose to hobble out of the room without looking back.


End file.
